


The Inheritance

by Teland



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves, Anal Fingering., Banter, Biting, Cunnilingus, F/M, Facials, First Time, Happy Ending, Humor, Insecurity, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Polyamory, Pseudo-Incest, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Telepathy, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Sex, polyamory negotiation, threesome f/m/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it's at that point when Treville realizes that he's actively fantasizing about shoving his face between the legs of his decidedly female friend and *sister* — </p>
<p>Licking and nibbling up and *in* — </p>
<p>He grunts and stops *dead*. </p>
<p>Right in front of Amina's building. </p>
<p>Where she's sitting on the steps. With a very sharp — she's peeling carrots. </p>
<p>And glaring at him. </p>
<p>It does absolutely *nothing* to wither his bloody *erection* — "Uh," he says, with truly impressive brilliance. </p>
<p>"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"</p>
<p>Let me fuck you. Let me fuck you *hard*. Let me fuck you hard all night *long*. "Ah…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is exactly how we prepare for major life events that we know about ahead of time.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Houndstar (green_animation)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_animation/gifts), [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts).



> Disclaimers: I'll be honest; most of this is mine.
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: I'm pretty sure there's not a single spoiler in here. If you find one, you get to throw a soft object at me. Takes place twenty-some years pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: I did say I'd wind up writing, like, eight werewolf fics in this fandom. This one comes from Houndstar, who pointed out that Treville's old running buddies really ought to get a turn.
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love and gratitude to Pixie, Houndstar, Melly, Spice, Aleksa Kai, and, of course, my Jack, for everything they do to keep this motor running *somehow* — and everything they put up with.

Disappearing for his twenty-fourth birthday takes some effort, but Treville puts his back into it. 

Laurent is the newly-minted Captain of the King's Musketeers, and just a *little* indulgent of his little brothers, and so Treville's unit with Kitos and Reynard doesn't have any particular missions today — short of emergencies that no one can predict, and, yes, Treville *does* feel guilty for taking himself away from any of the places messengers can reach him, but — 

But — 

He has to. 

And that means taking himself away from *all* the places his brothers can reach him. 

None of the taverns they frequent, and none of the taverns they frequent when they're desperate and poor. 

None of the brothels they frequent, and none of the brothels they frequent when they're desperate and poor, and none of the *street*-corners they frequent when they're even more desperate and poor than that. 

None — 

He doesn't go to Amina's. 

He doesn't — 

He doesn't go to *Ife's*, who had somehow *not* had a prophecy about Treville's twenty-fourth birthday, and he's grateful, so grateful — 

He's gotten to *have* his Amina-love, *time* with his Amina-love — 

Just like he's gotten to have time with his brothers. 

And. 

And. 

It doesn't — 

It *maybe* doesn't all have to end tonight. 

He tells himself that as he rides further and further out of the city, further and further into the (green) woods. 

His father had managed the military *and* Court-life after *his* twenty-fourth birthday, and had even passed down some pointers on *how* to do it. 

And how *not* to do it. 

His father had died thwarting an attack on Henri. There'd been silver in the blade. 

Whether or not the assassin had known what he was *doing* with that... well, that's a mystery. Treville's father had taken the man with him, *and* all of his compatriots. 

Their blades were steel. 

They — 

The de Tréville lands and estates were enriched heavily for his father's sacrifice, and Treville has spent much of the past several years turning over *that* day in his mind. Trying... 

Trying to make it end *differently*, of course, but his father had raised him a certain way. Treville has also been trying to figure out how much danger he's in. How much he has to *watch* himself — and around whom. 

*Will* it be over after tonight?

Who *does* know?

Did Henri pass the secret on to his son?

*Will* he? 

And Éventreur is growing more and more restive — doubtless picking up on Treville's own mood. There isn't much Treville can do about that right now, but... he can think about other things. 

He can — 

All right, thinking about his *legacy*, the *inheritance* waiting for him as soon as the moon rises — 

Well, that's just making his mood worse. 

Treville — sighs, not growls. He's far enough out of the city. He dismounts, walks Éventreur into the trees, and... breathes. 

Just breathes. 

And admits that he feels better. Feels *cleaner*. Feels — 

Ah, fuck, is it already starting? 

Is he losing himself *already*? 

There's a part of him which only wants to — to take off *running* from everything he *is*, run until he falls down exhausted, and then — 

Then he'll just wake up twenty-four and... a werewolf. 

This time, Treville lets himself growl, unsurprised by how flat and low and *animal* it comes out. His father had always advised against growling, if at all possible. 

He ties Éventreur to a tree and walks on until he comes to a likely clearing. It's small, and dark, and grim, but that suits his mood. He strips right there. 

("... and then, son, you'll open yourself —" 

"Open myself?" 

"You'll take deep breaths, and imagine yourself... a vessel. A vessel for something *bigger* than you are." 

"But. Won't that *break* me?" 

"Only in good ways, son.") 

And his father had smiled his warmest, kindest smile — 

Cupped Treville's shoulders with his hard hands — 

*Squeezed* — 

("We all have to be a little broken by our gods, son.") 

Treville had *frowned* — 

("Hmm. Don't like that, at all, do you.") And his father had chucked his chin with one callused finger and laughed. 

("Dad —" 

"Son. The All-Mother is *our* Mother. Our *true* Mother — and there's no getting round that. On the night of your twenty-fourth birthday, She's going to *take* you — whether or *not* you're ready for Her to do it. Best be prepared.") 

Treville hadn't liked that, either, but — he'd listened to his father's instructions, and he'd memorized them, and — 

Now he's here. 

He's here. 

And he's breathing — 

And growling between breaths — 

And tasting — 

Tasting so *much* on the *air* all of a sudden — 

Everything green — 

Every animal that's walked through this clearing for — for seemingly *weeks* — 

He wants to *run* —

But. There's a steadying hand on him from the inside, and it's warm, and hard, and — 

Familiar — 

Dad...?

But there's no voice, and there's no *visible* ghost. Just that steadying *presence*.

And a little push. 

Treville nods — and opens himself. 

The first impression is one of absolute joy, absolute wonder and *joy* — 

He is loved, he is welcome, he has been *waited* for — 

The second impression is one of green, and power, and — 

Filling him up — 

Riding him — 

Taking — is he on his back?

Is he — 

He's — 

He's *inside* the earth, somehow, he can sense —

It feels like he's being *fucked*. 

It feels — 

He's writhing and groaning and — and the *joy* is still there, the *overwhelming* joy, the — 

Love.

He's never been so — 

He's never — 

And then the power riding him gets more intense, more — more *wild* somehow — 

**MY SON.**

Treville arches and *spends*, utterly flattened by that — that *voice* that had come from absolutely everywhere, including *inside* him — 

Utterly — 

His body just gives and gives and *gives*, and he can feel — 

He can feel it being taken. 

He can feel — but. 

That was the goddess.

That was. 

That was the *All-Mother* — 

And there's laughter for that, and it's all around, all through, riding him, fucking him, urging him to give *more*, urging him to *share* everything he *is*, everything he *has* been — 

**MY SON. I HAVE MISSED YOU.**

Treville spends *again*, and his eyes roll up, and he's drooling, sweating, rolling — 

Shaking and *writhing* — 

**HERE...**

"Nuh —" 

And the voice is — gone, different, fading — 

The *power* is still there, the power is still (changing him) *rolling* through him, but that flattening, near-painful voice is now just... knowledge. 

Knowledge already *in* him, or *building* in him as he thinks of questions — 

He could've come anytime after he (was ripe) reached his maturity — 

He would've been *welcome* — 

*This* couldn't happen until now, because he wasn't *fully* ripe — 

*This* *had* to happen because he's Hers, all Hers, and he needs to be strong, needs to be protected, needs to be protected from the children who don't know the ways — 

All of the ways — 

And *he* will know them now, he won't be able to avoid knowing them, living them, sharing them, being fruitful — 

Treville blinks — 

Blinks more — 

And, this time, the laughter is a rumble in his bones. 

And Treville knows — *knows* — that every wolf needs a mate. 

He swallows, and sweats more, and tries to — 

Tries to *explain* to the *goddess* that he doesn't *work* that way — 

That he never *has* — 

That he can get it *up* for women, but —

But —

The rumble is making him *vibrate* now, and. 

Treville gets the distinct sense that he's being patted on the head and dismissed *exactly* like a toddler. 

It probably isn't politic to be offended. 

**YOU ARE A VERY AMUSING BOY. DO NOT EAT YOUR HORSE WHEN YOU GO BACK.**

"Ngh — fuck — *fuck* — I would — never —" 

He's being looked at. Loudly. 

And... and he does, suddenly, think horses look and smell delicious. Damnit. *Damnit*. 

She's rumbling at him again. 

Well... well. 

Better to be amusing than offensive, he supposes. 

And then he knows that he's a good boy, that he's a beautiful boy, *Her* beautiful boy, Her beautiful boy who'll visit often if he knows what's *good* for him... 

Treville coughs — "I — yes... Mother...." 

And the power strokes him all over, caresses him, squeezes his aching *cock* — 

And then Treville is crouched in the clearing on his toes and the fingers of one hand — 

On the *claws* of one hand — 

His toes are *also* growing claws — 

He's *changing* — 

It bloody *hurts* — 

And. 

It feels incredible. 

It feels. 

It feels like the first time he sparred with *steel* with Laurent, the first time he was *good* enough for that — 

It feels like dancing with his Amina-love, when they've both got the steps just right, when their bodies are — 

Are — 

It feels like the first time he fucked a boy instead of a woman, and his body was just wild with the *possibilities* — 

It feels like falling into Kitos's arms on one of the nights his cock is hard enough to *feel* — 

It feels like — 

Like kissing Reynard when he's in the mood to *flirt*, just — 

Mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, and Treville can hear his bones *cracking*, but this is what his body was *meant* for, this is what *he* was meant for — 

Oh — 

Oh, the moon is *calling* him — 

He answers — 

He answers with a *howl* — 

And he runs.


	2. The morning after is always hard.

When Treville wakes, he's covered in blood and offal, which is *worrying* to say the least, but he can *hear* Éventreur stamping and complaining a half mile away from the clearing he'd found his way back to, so... so. 

All is reasonably well. 

He thinks. 

He tries to *identify* what he'd killed by the carnage surrounding him — and he absolutely had gotten some on his shirt and tunic, too, damn — 

Kitos would be good at this, with that poacher's eye of his — 

The best *Treville* can do is guess that it was smaller than a deer, and that it used to have dark fur. Maybe. 

There may have been multiple its. 

His wolf is a *damned* messy eater, at this point in his life. 

Still, it's not yet dawn, and he can smell a stream not so far away. He'll wash up as best he can and take care of Éventreur while he's at it. 

Then...

Then it'll be time to pay the piper.


	3. Oh, *now* you think about that?

Kitos and Reynard are waiting for him on the parade ground when he rides into the garrison, and Laurent is looking down on him from the catwalk. 

The rest of the parade ground isn't *quite* deserted — there are two stableboys gently urging a bay with a split hoof into the farrier's — 

But. 

For a moment, Treville considers trying humour — some little joke about expecting his brothers to be waiting for him back at his rooms in the city, where he'd stopped to clean up a little better — 

And then Reynard pulls one of his knives and starts cleaning his fingernails. 

And Laurent tightens his *jaw*. 

And Kitos lowers his head. Just that. No glower. No scowl. Just dark, nearly *blank* anger — 

And he is absolutely, completely, utterly in the shit. 

Treville dismounts, holds up a hand, beckons to Valere, the nearest stableboy — 

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure he gets a little extra food and a treat today — he had a hard night of it." 

"Yes, sir!" 

And then Treville nods to his brothers. 

Laurent beckons *all* of them up to his office with a curt wave. 

Kitos and Reynard make Treville walk ahead of them, and they don't say a *word* — 

And Treville realizes, belatedly, that they absolutely would've been looking for him all night —

That they would've been *worrying* all night — 

That — 

He winces, winces *more* for the prickling, terrible *scents* of their *anger* — 

The *worse* scents of their *hurt* — 

He can feel a *noise* crawling up the back of his throat — 

He knows it would be a whine. 

He knows — 

He can't. 

He *can't*. 

He swallows it back, at least — at least for now. He has to be *honest* with his brothers. He *doesn't* have to be an *animal*. 

Not... every day of the month. 

Treville licks his lips, squares his shoulders, and walks into Laurent's office. 

Laurent is standing behind his desk with the fingertips of one hand splayed on the blotter. Kitos and Reynard are *bracing* him. And — 

"Well, Treville?" Laurent raises an eyebrow. "When I give my men leave, they may do with it what they see fit — within reason. I was not expecting you to make your brothers sick with worry for you." 

And that — "Did you mean to not count yourself as my brother, sir?" 

Laurent growls, low and — human. "*Never*. But, Treville —" 

"I have — an inheritance." 

Laurent blinks — 

Kitos shifts on his feet — 

"You have inherited *many* things, Treville. What is this *new* thing?" And Reynard's eyes are *hot* with rage. He hasn't put his blade up even though they're in Laurent's *office*. 

Treville squeezes his eyes shut — no. He picks up Laurent's silver letter opener in his gloved hand — 

"What are you bloody *doing*, Fearless —" 

— and he rests the blade of it against his naked wrist. The burn of it is immediate — 

He *yips* a noise — 

He *yanks* the letter opener away, tossing the thing across the room — 

"What —" 

"Meneur, what —" 

But Kitos is fastest, grabbing Treville's left hand and pushing the sleeve of his tunic back far enough that the burn is obvious. "*Shit*, Fearless, what the bloody buggering fuck have you gotten yourself into *this* time?" 

Treville — can't not *live* in the feel of Kitos's powerful hands on him, can't not — 

A part of him thought he wouldn't have them again — but. But. 

He has to tell it all. "I have — an inheritance —" 

"You *said* that already, meneur, now —" And Reynard is gripping his chin, turning his face up — 

Studying his *eyes* — 

And Treville pants and just — "Toujours frères —" 

"Toujours pas *assez*. *Tell* me!" 

"My family... we're... witches. Werewolves —" 

"*Treville* —" 

"*Laurent*," Treville says. "You're — you *have* to be tempted to say I'm speaking in myths, but I *changed* last night. My *body* changed, and it felt like the most incredible sex of my *life* —" 

Kitos *grunts* — 

"I — I don't know how else — it was just so perfect. It was what I was supposed to *do*." 

And Laurent is moving around the desk, brushing Reynard's hand aside and gripping Treville's chin himself — 

Gripping Treville's *shoulder* with his other hand — 

It feels like he's trying to hold Treville in one *spot* — 

"Sir —" 

"Brother," Laurent says, and studies him hard. "You knew this was going to happen." 

Treville winces. "Yes. I — I didn't know how to talk about it. My father prepared me for it, as best as he could, while he was alive. The blade that killed him had silver in it — I don't know —" 

"What don't you know." 

Treville shudders and doesn't *whine* — 

Laurent isn't letting him *move* — 

If he breaks Laurent's hold, he'll *hurt* him — 

"What. Don't. You. Know." 

"*Laurent* —"

"Answer." 

Treville *pants* — "I don't know if I bloody *belong* here anymore! I —" 

"The answer is simple," Laurent says. "You do." 

"Laurent —" 

"You could belong nowhere else, brother —" 

"That's *right*," Kitos says — 

"Did you truly think of *leaving* us?" And Reynard's voice is *hot* again — 

"You don't —" Treville growls, and lets it be just as flat and animal as it *is* now — 

Laurent *blinks* — 

"*Dieu* —" 

"*Fuck*, Fearless —" 

"I. I've been this close to *whining* like — like an *animal* ever since I started smelling how *hurt* you all were — I'm not. Human. I'm not. It's not just on the full moon. It's not just *silver*," Treville says, and breaks Laurent's grip on him as gently as he can. 

He immediately feels freezing, untethered, too *light* — 

He doesn't grip himself. He paces a few steps away. "I'm not human. And I don't know if I'm going to be as good at *pretending* to be as my father was." 

Kitos, Reynard, and Laurent share a look — but it doesn't last long before Kitos is stepping into Treville's space and *looming* over him. 

"Kitos —" 

"*You* told me that your father didn't go *anywhere* without his lieutenants." 

"What? No, he didn't —" 

"You don't think maybe they kept his secrets for him?" 

"I —" 

"When *he* couldn't?" 

Treville blinks — 

Treville blinks — a lot — 

And Kitos laughs hard — and swats Treville *harder* — 

"*Kitos* —" 

"You *arsehole*. I told you when I was *fifteen* that I'd follow you straight to Hell. What makes this any different?"

Treville *blushes* — and a sound comes out of him — 

He doesn't — 

It's a bloody *croon* — 

*All* of his brothers are *blinking* — 

Treville is blushing even *harder* — 

Backing *away* — 

But then Kitos is *yanking* him into his arms — 

His powerful *arms* — 

Treville shudders — 

He smells like amusement-curiosity-worry-hunger-happiness-love, *love*, he can't — 

The part of him which is *always* connected to the All-Mother won't *let* him call that anything but *love* — 

They all smell like that.

They — 

"You belong *here*, brother," Laurent says, and rests his hand on the back of Treville's neck. "Nowhere else." 

Treville shivers and croons again — 

"You will teach us everything about the animal in you, chéri. You will teach *me* everything," Reynard says, and pushes into the hug. 

Treville *grunts* — "Reynard —" 

"If you fight me on this, I will shave the fur from your *balls*. And I will not be *gentle* or *cautious*." 

Treville *coughs*. 

Laurent hums. "I think, perhaps, you should listen." 

"Fox-face knows *everywhere* you sleep, you know." 

"C'est. *Vrai*."

Treville pants and pants and — and realizes that what he's fighting, right now, is a smile. 

A smile he can press right into Kitos's magnificent beard. 

"I won't fight. I won't."


	4. Mother knows best.

Of course, there's another piper to pay. 

Amina *probably* wouldn't have searched the city for him when he didn't show up to her rooms on his birthday, but...

He still should've shown up. 

Drunk and stupid with frustrated need for his brothers, but — 

And why did she put up with that, again? 

Why did she put up with *any* of his shit?

Kitos and Reynard had offered to come *with* him for this — 

("We will *always* be your backup, meneur.") 

— but. 

No. 

No. Not for this. 

So, he spiffs himself up after a day of training — not so difficult, since the training hadn't really taxed him — and goes.

Éventreur is a lot more *sedate* than usual on the ride there — and the same had been true on the ride back from the woods outside Paris, actually. 

He'll have to have the farrier give him a look, make sure he's not coming down with a colic or something. For now, Treville leaves him with the perfectly-wonderful hostler a quarter-mile from Amina's tenement, and walks the rest of the way. 

Amina's working days at the teahouse now; she should be home — 

Maybe fixing something good for dinner — 

Maybe just relaxing. He could give her a rubdown, get on her good side. He hasn't done that in too long. He's *good* at it — especially on bodies as strong and muscular as his Amina-love's. 

Her skin is so smooth and dark — 

And Treville knows she has a little nut oil — she gets it from Ife and the others — 

He could work it into her skin, all over...

He could ease her aches and pains, really make her *relax*. 

He's not surprised that he's walking faster — 

He's not surprised that he's *eager* — 

Amina always smells good, when he's gotten close enough *to* smell her, and now — 

These new senses — 

Treville stops himself from rumbling aloud with *effort*. 

He just — wants to touch her. 

Wants to make her feel *good* with *his* hands. 

With his body. 

With —

And it's at that point when Treville realizes that he's actively fantasizing about shoving his face between the legs of his decidedly female friend and *sister* — 

Licking and nibbling up and *in* — 

He grunts and stops *dead*. 

Right in front of Amina's building. 

Where she's sitting on the steps. With a very sharp — she's peeling carrots. 

And glaring at him. 

It does absolutely *nothing* to wither his bloody *erection* — "Uh," he says, with truly impressive brilliance. 

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Let me fuck you. Let me fuck you *hard*. Let me fuck you hard all night *long*. "Ah…"

She narrows her — beautiful — eyes, and Treville... gives up. Just gives up. 

He moves in range of several painful — if not deadly, he can smell that there's no silver on her — blows, drops into a crouch, and peels back the left arm of his shirt — 

She scoffs. "You have been wounded more seriously than that falling down drunk on my *floor*. This doesn't explain why —" 

"I got this burn this morning, Amina-love. From Laurent's silver letter-opener," Treville says, and *looks* at Amina. 

"From..." And then she blinks, because she was raised by *witches*, and she *knows*. 

She knows... a lot. 

And her expression — and scent — turns soft and worried for him immediately. "Jean-Armand..." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I knew it was going to happen, Amina-love." 

"What — what? What do you mean?" 

"It's... the real du Peyrer inheritance. Once we're twenty-four, the All-Mother takes us and... changes us." 

Amina drops her blade in the lap of her wrap-dress and covers her mouth. For a moment, her eyes are only wide, only...

And Treville has the terrible, terrible thought that Amina might know enough — have *learned* enough — to want to avoid him, that it's his brothers' *ignorance* that's saving him with them, that — 

But then Amina drops her hand, gathers her blade and her carrots — "Come *inside*!" 

"I —" 

"Now!" 

He follows orders, knees a little watery with relief — but. 

Once inside... 

Amina's rooms are small, and her scents are everywhere. 

Everywhere. 

Treville is flaring his nostrils helplessly, hard and *harder* again — 

"Jean-*Armand*, what *is* it? What do you *smell*?" 

"You," Treville says, and his voice is a growl, guttural and *hungry* — 

Amina *rears* back —

And Treville knows *this* worry isn't for *him*. He winces. "I'm sorry. I'm. I won't. I'm sorry —" 

"What won't you do?" 

"I'm —" He takes a deep breath — and immediately regrets it, because he can smell her laundry. She hasn't taken it in... days. He can smell her sweat. Her *work*. 

He — 

He *shakes* himself — 

"What is *wrong* —" 

"You smell *incredible*," Treville says, and covers his *face* — 

"I — smell... you sound like you want to *eat* me!" 

If she looks down — 

If she — no. No. Don't make her wait.

Never make her — 

"*Treville* —" 

He drops his hands. "I — I want to make love to you. I won't *hurt* you. I won't do *anything*. I *love* you —" 

Amina *grunts* — 

Shakes her *head* — 

Backs *up* a step — 

"No — no, please, don't —" 

"I am your *sister*. You — you have *said* this —" 

"And I want. I've been dreaming about you the whole walk here —" 

"I — you — men do not *change* like this —" 

"The All-Mother *laughed* at me when I said I couldn't — with a woman. She. She all but patted me on the head and — I think. This is what She meant."

"You talked about this with the *goddess*?" 

"She said I needed a *mate*. She said. She said I needed to be *fruitful* —" 

Amina makes a *low* sound — 

"I. I want you. I want you so much. Your scents are all around me. Please let me *sniff* you!" 

Amina shakes her *head* again — 

Treville whines — no. No. "Amina... *Amina*. Do you. Do you need me to go?" 

"Oh — *fuck*. Sweet brother, I need *you*!" 

Treville growls and *moves* — but she stops him. 

She *stops* him, holding him away from her with her hands on his chest. 

"*Amina* —" 

"I — you *arsehole*. You don't know how many times I've *dreamed* of you saying words like —" And then *she* growls. 

It's the single most arousing — 

Treville *pants* — 

Growls *back* — 

"Jean-*Armand*." 

"I'm *listening* —" 

"I'm *pregnant*." 

"You — you're. What?" 

She gives him a hard look and says nothing. Nothing. 

Treville can't help but look down... but her belly's just the same faintly rounded shape as ever... 

But. 

"Belgard." 

She nods tightly. 

Treville takes another deep breath and smiles. "Then I won't have to kill him. He'll put you aside —" 

"*What* —" 

"— can be together —" 

"*Treville* —" 

"I *need* you!" 

She jerks, mouth falling open, loose and slack and — 

And Treville leans in — 

She turns *aside* — 

"*Please*." 

"What of my *babe*?"

Treville turns her to face him. "Our babe." 

"What —" 

"I'll adopt him or her, once we're married —" 

"Jean-*Armand* —" 

And Treville tilts her head up because he has to, buries his nose against her *throat* because he has to — 

"Oh —" 

"Tell me. Tell me I can lick you here." 

"We — we have to *talk* —" 

"Do you remember the night you knifed that Spanish merchant?" 

"*Yes*. You were going to — to take me to bed even though you didn't *want* me —" 

"I wanted you. Not enough. Not the right *way*. But I wanted you. But what I really wanted was to ask you to marry me." 

Amina curls her fingers in against his chest — 

Digs her *nails* in — 

Treville *growls* again — 

"Lick me. Lick me, and — *unh* —" 

And Treville can't let her finish, can't — 

He's licking her throat, her face, her mouth — 

He's licking the wings of her collarbone and the space behind her *ear* — 

He's *biting* there — 

"Oh — *oh* — sweet *brother* —" 

Sucking a kiss, because he can still do that, still use his mouth like a *man* — 

She *groans* — 

"Do you like that?" 

"What do *you* think?" 

Treville barks a laugh and licks into her *ear* — 

"*Fuck* — 

"You taste so *good*, Amina-love," he says, and he's slurring, crooning a little, he can't — 

"I — *there*?" 

"Everywhere. Let me *taste* you everywhere. Let me taste your *cunt*." 

"Nnh — *Treville* —"

"I can smell you there. I can smell — you're aroused. What did it, mm? Tell me, so I can do more of it —" 

"I am *always* aroused when you're touching me!" 

Treville *grunts* — 

"I should hit you with my *skillet* for being *surprised* by that!" 

Treville pulls back — "It does explain a *lot*," he says, and grins his best arsehole-grin — 

She punches him just below his ribs — 

"Oof — oh, I was overdue for that —" 

"Yes, you *were* —" 

"But let me —" 

"Do you *like* the smell of my cunt?" 

"I like all your scents. I *always* have. I —" Treville licks his lips and nuzzles in behind her ear again. 

"Oh —" 

"I always wanted to be close to you, always wanted to touch your *skin* —" 

Amina claws his *sides* — 

Treville *bucks* — "Fuck, sorry —" 

"Oh, sweet brother, you're so *hard*," Amina says, and reaches down to cup him, squeeze him — 

Treville pants and pants and surrenders to the need to squeeze her hips, her round hips — "Please let me —" 

"Sweet brother... you have made me wait too long for me to be satisfied with your *tongue*." 

And there's a moment when he can't — 

Think — 

There's only what his body is doing, what his body is *demanding*, which is Amina, up in his arms — 

Amina's sweet body so close, crushed close — 

Licking her throat as he carries her to her little bedroom — 

She's saying *something*, but he can't *focus* — 

Not yet, not yet, and so long as she's not punching him, it's all right. 

She's pushing her hands through his hair — 

She's tugging and pulling — not to pull him away. 

She's *scratching* and pulling — 

He bites — 

She cries *out* — 

He lays her *down* — 

She's smiling up at him so *happily* — 

And if Treville can get her wrap-dress off without destroying it, he just might survive the night. 

"What are you *doing*?"

"*Undressing* you —" 

"You are a like a *babe* looking for a *nipple*. Here, let me help you," she says, and sits up again —

"Oh, thank fuck —" 

"You would think you had never —" And then she blushes.

Treville smiles ruefully. "I'm *very* good at unlacing trousers." 

She gives him a long look, then, and — doesn't continue undressing. 

"Amina-love?" 

"I... are you *sure* that you —" 

"*Amina* —" 

"Look at it from my perspective!" 

"I — all I can see is you. All I can feel —" Treville growls and *yanks* her hand back down to his cock. "That's yours. That's for *you*." 

Amina moans. "But — sweet brother, did the All-Mother..."

"Mm? What? *Ask* me. I'll tell you anything —" 

"Did She *take* your love for your brothers? Your *need* for them." 

Treville blinks. "I — no." 

"No? She just... gave you *this* to go *with* all of that?"

Treville squeezes her hand against him —

She makes a small sound — but doesn't squeeze in turn. 

"Yes. I — I still love them. Today was... intense. Difficult. All their scents were..." He shakes his head. "I'll have to re-learn all my controls —" 

"But not with me?"

And Treville honestly means to — and expects to — say something about how he'll learn control with her if she needs him to, but what actually comes out of his mouth is: "You're my *mate*." 

Which *surprises* a *hard* squeeze out of her — 

"*Fuck* — do that *again* —" 

"*No*," she says, and yanks her hand away — but since she goes back to stripping, he can't complain. 

He — 

"You strip, *too*!" 

"*Absolutely*," he says, standing and stripping at speed. He pauses at his breeches, because he *always* does when he's here — 

But she doesn't pause at *her* smallclothes, at all. She — 

Her *skin* — 

Treville gets *rid* of the breeches and climbs back onto the narrow bed, licking up between her breasts — 

"You — would have better luck aiming to the left or right —" 

So he straddles her and *cups* her breasts, dragging his hilt calluses over the nipples — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"We've never talked about how sensitive these are, somehow..." 

"Wh-what?" 

"We talk about everything. You know *exactly* what I do with my boys — and I've a fair idea of what you do with your men. But I don't know how sensitive your nipples are."

She *stares* up at him — and moans. 

"Does that mean I should find out for myself? I want to. I want everything. But mostly I want to make you *wet*." 

"I am *already* —" 

"Wetter. *Sloppy*. You know what I like," Treville says, and licks his lips — 

Amina grunts — "And if I do not care to be so wet?"

Treville blinks. "But —" 

"*Friction*, sweet brother —" 

"It's *dangerous* —" 

"In an *arse*," she says, and snickers. 

Treville blushes. "But — I know —" 

"I will not be too dry for you. Not unless your cock is much bigger than what I already *felt*." 

Treville moans. "I want — and it'll be good for you? Not — painful in bad ways?" 

She growls. And spreads her legs wide — wide enough that she has to plant her right foot on the *floor*, because the bed is just that narrow. 

It makes her scents rise in a cloud, a wonderful *cloud* — 

Treville is panting, gulping air, twitching and *jerking* — 

*Dripping* — 

"You're making my cock *ache* —" 

"Squeeze my breasts!" 

He does, he *does*, and, he thrusts against her strong thigh, and he *wants* —

He — 

"I want to bite you —" 

"Do it!" 

Treville growls and releases one breast so he can brace himself above her, so he can bite her throat, her jaw — 

"*Treville* —" 

"Call me your brother, always call me —" 

"Even — even when I am your *wife*?" 

And Treville still has *some* control. He knows she means to stop him with that, make him think, make him pull *back*. But. He bites her throat again, makes it a *big* mouthful — 

He growls *hard* — 

She cries out *high* — 

And *then* he pulls back. "Call me anything you *want*. But. But. When you're my wife... if you were to *say* that..."

She makes a low noise, a *hurt* noise — 

He licks her face again, he — 

He *has* to — 

And he can feel... something. 

Something like that *absolute* rightness from last night — 

Something like that pure physical *need* — 

He croons and moves down her body, licks the breast he's not holding, sucks the nipple — is it bigger than it used to be?

How much bigger will it get? 

He growls again and nibbles — 

Amina *moans* — 

Treville *squeezes* her other breast, rubs the nipple with his calluses — no, he pinches it, pulls it — 

She *grunts* — 

Bucks — 

Treville snarls and *bites* her nipple — 

"*Brother*!" 

He nods and sucks and sucks and sucks *hard*, and he can't keep himself from lapping, from *wanting* — 

"You — you — lick my cunt!" 

Treville *jerks* his head up — 

"I am *too* wet now! Lick me clean!" 

Treville *moves*, and he — 

A part of him is only wondering about the men who've gotten this order before. If they'd truly been competent, or if, like him, they'd simply been who Amina had *wanted*. 

He'll find out. 

He'll find out and he'll *learn*, and he'll — 

Well, he's watched *Reynard* do this — it's hard to see past all Kitos's hair — and he's *listened* to them describe what they like best about the act, what makes their women loudest, hungriest, most *willing* — 

He still feels that strange, needy *something* inside himself — 

Making his entire body *alive* — 

He spreads her lips and — there she is, purple and pink and shiny-slick even in the gloom of the tiny bedroom. They hadn't bothered with any candles. 

But he can't just look. He can't — 

He has orders. 

He licks — 

He licks and licks and licks her all *over*, and she's moaning, urging herself toward him, but — it's not enough. This isn't what she *likes*. Not really. 

Not — 

He shoves his tongue *inside* her cunt, wanting it to go all the way *up* — and *yips*, because he can feel it growing, feel it — 

But Amina is groaning and shaking, bucking and *yelling*, and there's no time or room to be concerned about anything but making her do that *more*. 

He *fucks* her with his tongue, and it feels strange, feels — there's so much of it!

It seems to go on for miles!

But it also seems like her flavours are all over him, all through him — 

Her scents and her flavours — 

Her *slick* — 

It's all *over* him, all — 

He feels like he's getting so much *more* of it, and he'd meant to try some wriggling, a little finesse like he uses with all of his pretty boys' arses, but he has to fuck her — 

Has to make her keep *yelling* like this — 

Just like — 

Oh, her hands are in his *hair* again — 

She's digging her *nails* in again — 

Treville growls right *into* her, wraps his arms round her thighs — 

She tries to close her legs — 

He *forces* them wide reflexively — 

She screams and *spurts*, and Treville *wants* to stop and apologize, he *does*, but he can't, he *can't*, he has to lick her, has to lick her clean, has to lick her *dirty* — 

"B-brother!" 

"*Yours*," he slurs, and his tongue really is too long, too — 

He can't get the *angles* he *wants* — 

But she's groaning, gurgling — 

Still *bucking* — 

Grinding her cunt onto his *face* — 

It's possible that his tongue-length, at this point, is helping things. 

He *sucks* at her little piss-hole — 

She *howls* — 

And Treville feels himself — changing more. 

*Shifting* more. *Responding* — 

He's growling, panting, *needing* — 

He can't — 

He has to *have* her — 

He laps at her swollen pleasure-button and urges, tries to *urge* — 

"Unh — *UNH* — *brother* — you must — *fuck*!" And she *shoves* his head back — 

Treville *whines*, but he can look up, he can — he can try to have a little *control*, try to — 

If he focuses, if he really *thinks* about the fact that the moon is waning, then — there. He's — 

He's shifting back. 

And Amina is staring at him with her eyes wide and her jaw *slack*. 

"Amina —" 

"You — you were — and then you *changed*!" 

"I — yes? But —" 

"Do it again!" 

"Um. Did you *like* —" 

She kicks him. 

"*Ow* — Amina —" 

She kicks him *again* — 

"*Amina* —" 

"Why didn't you *tell* me you could *do* that with your tongue?" 

"I didn't know!" 

"What else can you — but. But. You do not know. Did you change last night?"

Treville licks his lips and gives his *needy* cock a squeeze. "I did. I — I don't remember much. All the scents. The feel of the ground beneath my paws. The *different* feelings beneath my paws." 

"Your —" 

"The crack of bone between my *jaws*," Treville says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Amina blinks. "You *hunted*?" 

"I did. I don't know *what* I hunted — I couldn't identify it this morning — but... I was just covered in blood and offal when I woke up. It. Maybe I should be a little careful with my control —" 

"Do I smell like *food* to you?" 

"*No* —" 

"Do you want to *kill* me?" 

"*No*!" 

"Do you want to *hurt* me?" 

"I." 

She blinks. "Sweet brother. Is that a hard question?" 

"You told me you *liked* pain. You told me. You told me you'd tossed men aside who were too *gentle* with you. You — I was going to *apologize* for not letting you close your *legs*, but —" 

"Do *not* —" 

"*That*." And Treville growls. "I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you in every way you *love*." 

She makes a small noise — 

Pants — 

"I have not told you, yet, what those ways are..." 

"Tell me now. Do it. *Do* it, so *I* can do it —" 

"*Brother* —" 

"Don't say *no* when you don't *want* to!" 

She *grunts* — 

"*Tell* me!" 

"What *happens* when I give you my *secrets*, Jean-*Armand*?" 

"I *keep* them. I *hold* them — I bloody *treasure* — Amina-love, I *need* you!"And Treville can't catch himself before he's pouncing, pinning her down by the shoulders, growling in her *face* — "I NEED YOU!" 

And he can feel that rightness again, that absolute *perfection* — 

It shouldn't *be* here — 

Not like — 

But Amina moans and reaches up to touch his face —

His — 

His *fur* — 

"Aminaaa..."

"Oh. Your muzzle is so..." And Amina licks her lips and flushes, flushes so *red* under her dark skin — 

"Do you *like* it," Treville says, and he's chewing the words, dripping *saliva* on her — 

He feels himself *growing* — 

Growing and growing and — 

It's *different* from last night, it's — 

His body *isn't* becoming a wolf's. It's becoming something different, something *between* a man's and a wolf's, and — so hungry. 

So. "ANSWER." 

She *jerks* beneath him... and her eyes grow heavy-lidded. "Yes, sweet brother. I like it very much..." And she reaches up further — 

Scratches his *ears* — 

That feels *incredible* — 

He *groans* — 

"Should I keep —" 

"Tell me. Tell me *more*," he says, and licks his chops. 

And licks her — 

Oh, just — 

Licks her fresh *sweat* away — 

"Tell me *everything*." 

"I like to be *fucked* hard, sweet brother," she says, and her voice is low and hungry, so — 

Treville's cock feels like it's leaking a *fountain's* worth of slick — 

It aches so *much* — 

Especially at the *base* for some reason — 

"I like to be... spanked..." 

Treville *growls* and *looks* at her — 

And she grins. "You don't like that, sweet brother...?" She licks her lips. "You don't like the idea of other men... smacking my arse?" 

Treville *snarls* and squeezes her shoulders — he has to be *careful* —

She strokes behind his ears — 

She *pants* — 

"Should I... leave that just for you...?" 

And Treville thinks of all those nights whoring with his brothers, all those nights when he's *watched* — "What if. I spank. Your *cunt*." 

Amina makes a *guttural* noise — "Brother..." 

"ANSWER." 

"I think. I think if you tried to do that now, my juices would spatter everywhere —" 

Treville *snarls* again — 

"Fuck me, you must fuck me, *please* —" 

Treville growls and releases her shoulders, lifts her right leg and pushes it back just a little — 

So wet, she's so *wet* again — 

But Treville is bigger than he was. 

His *cock* is bigger than *it* was. Wetter is better. Even though the slick he's putting out could lubricate a *regiment* — 

Even though his cock is *sleeker* than it was, redder and smoother and — 

Fuck, more *sensitive* when he strokes the slick *over* it — 

He's yipping and *crooning* — 

"What? What is it?" 

"I — I'm more *sensitive* —" 

She *grunts* again — "Get *inside* me!" 

"Yes — *yes*," Treville says, and pushes her thighs wider, careful of his claws on her beautiful skin, careful of everything — 

Until he starts pushing in. 

Until he *feels* her slick and his slick and — 

Oh, yes — 

Oh, fuck — 

He pushes and pushes and *pushes*, all the way in, all the way in one long *stroke* — 

"*Ai* —" 

He yips again, *again*, and then he just *growls*, because that throb at the base of his cock — 

That *sensitivity* — 

It's changing. 

It's changing and he knows what it *means*. 

He growls and *covers* Amina's, bracing himself up over her and forcing himself to be *still*, just — 

*Still* — 

For a little longer — 

Long enough to *talk* — 

Please, some god somewhere, just let him *talk* — 

She feels so *good* — 

She's clenching and *groaning* — 

She's — 

Oh, she's wrapping her strong arms around his neck — 

Pushing up to kiss his *muzzle* — 

To *lick* his muzzle — 

"*Amina* —" 

"Please, *please*, sweet brother, you must — you must *move* —" 

"You — I. I'm going." 

"*Move*!" 

"I'm going to grow a *knot*!" 

She grunts — 

She *stares* at him, mouth open again — 

Treville wants to *lick* — 

Wants to *bite* — 

Wants — 

"Oh, sweet brother..." 

"Amina — *Amina* —" 

"*Give* it to me!" 

"*Hnh* —" 

"Give me *all* of it!" 

And Treville's cock *spasms* inside her — 

She cries *out* — 

Treville grinds *helplessly* — 

"Oh, yes! Oh, *yes*!" 

He does that more. He — 

He grinds and *grinds*, and it feels like he's opening her with his cock, feels like he's making room for himself, feels like — 

Oh, but she *grips* him with her thighs — 

Pulls him *in* — 

*Urges* — 

"You — *you* —" 

"Fuck me! You must — you *must*!" 

And she's shining with sweat —

And her eyes are so *wide* — 

And Treville is licking her again, licking her and pulling out only to *slide* right in — 

So — 

He's trying not to go too fast, not to go too — but. 

But she's shaking, *clawing* at his *fur* — 

And he knows what he's supposed to do. 

He bites her *throat* — 

"*Ahn* —" 

And *fucks* her, fucks her harder, just a little harder at first, but — 

"More! *More*!" 

And his cock is jerking again, his eyes are trying to roll back, the growls won't stop, the *croons* won't stop, and he's licking while he bites — 

And he can feel his knot growing. 

Feel — 

Feel his thrusts getting shorter by *necessity* as the *thing* at the base of his cock just — 

Just *grows* — 

It's so *big* — 

*Some* of it slips in naturally with the force of his thrusts, and that feels good, feels sweet, feels — 

But Amina is whining, clawing at him again — 

*Hauling* at him with her legs — 

"Amina —" 

"Do not *tease*!" 

"My — my knot —" 

"Do not TEASE!" 

He bites her shoulder this time, he bites her and he *holds* her, and there's something — 

There's something that says break the skin — 

He won't, he *won't*, but he's pushing — 

Pushing and pushing and — 

She's spreading her legs *wide* again — 

Kicking at the floor with her *heel* — 

She's so *tight* — 

She's clenching *tighter* — 

She's *coughing* out yells, flexing open every few breaths and clenching right back up again, but — 

He won't tease, he won't bloody *tease*. 

He — 

She smells so *good* — 

She tastes so — 

And she's so good on his cock, so slick-hot-soft — 

So tight and *sweet* — 

And he won't stop now, won't — 

Just a little — 

She *howls* — 

And Treville can't stop himself from *shoving* in — 

From changing her howl to a *scream* — 

She's holding him *tight* again, holding him with her arms, her legs, her *cunt* — 

She's *sobbing* and *urging*, and Treville can't stop biting, can't stop — 

He fucks her — 

Her *fucks* her, and the thrusts are *really* short now, really — 

He's *rutting*, but he *must* be hitting good places, because she's wailing for him, crying out, beating at him and kissing him and licking him and *biting* him — 

He jerks and thrusts *hard* — 

"*Brother*!" 

And he wants to tell her that he's hers, wants her to know it, to *always* know it, to always *feel* it — 

He wants to be *inside* her every day, every moment, every *second* — 

He fucks her *harder* — 

He wants to *crawl* inside her, wants to — 

To *fuck* his way *in*, *in* — 

She sobs and *spurts* on him, all *over* him, and — 

And it's too much, too sudden, too — 

He bites her *shoulder*, bites her *hard*, and her blood is in his mouth, her delicious iron-sweet-*strong* blood — 

She gasps and spurts *more* — 

And everything in him says lap the wound, drool all over it, *contaminate* it, make Amina *his* — 

Make her —

Make her *feel* — 

She has to *feel* — 

(I I feel!) 

Treville growls and nearly bites *again* —

Fucks her *harder* — 

Growls and licks and laps and — 

(Brother oh sweet *brother* —) 

She's in his head!

(YOU PUT ME HERE!) 

Amina, oh, Amina-love, tell me you *like* it — 

She moans aloud — (I should *beat* you, but — oh, sweet brother, you will do this *daily* or I *will* hit you with a skillet —) 

The laughter in their heads is his own — but aloud it's growled, hungry, *loud* — 

He's *pinning* her again — 

He's — 

(Did you think I would try to get *away*?) 

I NEED YOU HERE, he says, and nips her everywhere he can reach, nips at the bite *scar* on her shoulder, licks — 

(I think you need to spend...) 

Treville grunts and bites her throat again, *holds* it between his teeth, growls and *pounds* her — 

He's so hot — 

He's so *needy* — 

She's *wheezing* — 

He's cutting off her *air* — 

But she smells just as aroused as before, just as hungry, just as *wild* for him — 

Wilder.

Different. 

Different? 

He breaks the bite — 

He *can't* stop rutting — 

Amina... 

She pants and pants and — croons. 

And blinks. 

And stares up at him with her dark eyes wide — 

They flash *maroon* — 

And Treville *slams* in once, twice — 

She *growls*, flat and animal and *warning* — 

Treville *howls* — and spends himself mindless inside her. 

He can't — 

He can't *think* — 

Everything is too hot — 

Everything is too *perfect* — 

(Jean-*Armand*!) 

Even that godawful *name* is perfect, and the knot is making it feel like he's shooting through a *pinhole*, but — 

Oh, that's good, that's painful and so *good* — 

He has to fill her *up* — 

He has to fill his mate *up* — 

He — 

He bites her again — 

She clenches and snarls — 

She clenches and *spurts* and bites him *back*, and her teeth are strong, sharp through his ruff — 

He *bleeds* for her — 

Spurts *more* — 

*Croons* into the wound on her shoulder — 

And she shudders beneath him and croons, too. 

They're together. 

They're *together*. 

Everything is perfect. 

(I am going to beat you until your muzzle is *flat*,) she says, quiet and matter-of-fact. 

Um.

(I am going to beat you until your cock looks like a bloody little *crepe*.) 

I....

(I am going to beat you —) 

Amina-love, can we talk about this? And Treville releases the bite *slowly and carefully*....

Amina is somewhat less careful with him — 

They both still heal more or less simultaneously. Treville can feel it. And he can... feel the waning moon again. He pulls himself back to human-form, as much as he can. His cock isn't having it. "Is this where I apologize?" 

"You asked me for *everything*. Always you asked for things when you should've known I would say yes! But you *didn't* ask to turn me into a *werewolf*?"

Treville licks his lips — 

Tastes his Amina-love —

His cock *spasms* inside her — 

She gets a bit dreamy-eyed — but only for a moment before she's glaring again. 

No reprieve there. "I... didn't know that would happen." 

"You didn't know that biting me would *turn* me?" 

"No, I — I *did* know that —" 

"I know you did!" 

"But — I didn't think I would lose that much control. I... it's just. When you spent..." And Treville licks his lips again. "You were spending for *me*, because of things *I* did. I — I was *competent*, and you were so *pleasured*, and all the scents and flavours of that were all *around* me —" 

*Treville* —" 

"I lost control. I lost — maybe Ife and Lara and Layo will know... something?" 

Amina gives him an *affronted* look, like he'd just dropped his *trousers* in front of her guardians or something. 

"No...?" 

"You were made a werewolf by the *goddess*, you arsehole! Even if there was something that *could* be done, it would be *stupid* to do it!" 

"I — right. I — I'm —" 

"Are you sorry?"

And that was an important, don't-you-dare-lie-to-me question. 

Treville pants — 

Croons — "I needed you. I *need* you. I had to have you, had to be inside you every — every *second* —" 

Amina gasps — 

"I can't be sorry for this! You're my *mate*." 

Amina blinks and — swallows.

And reaches up to touch the bite-scars on her shoulder. She isn't *looking* at him — 

She — 

She *smells* thoughtful, pensive — 

Treville needs — 

He noses against the fingers she's touching the scars with — 

She gasps again — "Brother..." 

He pulls back again, enough to meet her eyes. "I need. I need to see you. Be with me. Stay with me." 

She — rumbles. 

It *pulls* a rumble out of him, and they're both blushing and laughing and — 

"Ah, fuck, *brother*. What have you *done* to us?" 

"Well. You'll be really good at knowing when the meat at the market is fresh?"

She swats him. "I already was!" 

"You'll... always know when the full moon —" 

She punches him. 

"You'll never have to worry about your teeth falling out?"

"I — no, I like that." 

Treville sighs in relief and kisses her knuckles. Her claws are out a bit. He kisses those, too. "Ife's going to geld me before we can do this again, isn't she."

"I have *questions* for her." 

"Mm?" 

"She should have *known* about this!" 

"She can't know *everything*, Amina-love —" 

"That woman has known about *every* major event in my life weeks and months before it happened since we *met*. Since *before* we met!" 

"What — every one?" 

"Mm-*hm*. She *told* me that I would fall in love with you before I ever saw your face." 

Treville blinks — and blushes. 

Amina smiles wryly. "She tried *very* hard to get me away from you, sweet brother." 

"I know *that* —" 

"*Before* she knew what kind of man you were, I mean." 

"Oh. Shit." 

"Yes." 

Treville scratches at his beard. "You know..." 

"Mm?" 

"She's been... not *nicer* to me —" 

"She is not a nice woman!" 

"No, but — she hasn't been chasing me away with *sticks* in the past few weeks, either." 

Amina blinks. 

"I *thought* she was just warming up to me —" 

"She does not *warm*! She had a *prophecy* about you! Or me! Or both of us!" And Amina *snarls* — 

Treville's cock jerks *hard* — 

"Unh — oh — get *out* of me, sweet brother, I must go *yell* at her!" 

"I — I won't say I'd *like* to, because that would be a lie —" 

"I *know* that, but —" 

"I can't." 

"What?" 

"I um." Treville gestures to himself. "I changed my form back to this one without any trouble, but... I can't... uh." 

"You can't change your *cock*?" 

"It — and the knot is really —" 

"It's *massive* — hm. Maybe I can push," Amina says, and gets a *fascinating* look of *concentration* on her face — 

Wait, he's supposed to be trying to *help* get his cock out of her — 

He tries — 

He *tries* — 

"Ow! *Ow*, stop, sweet brother, *stop* —" 

"Shit, I'm sorry!" 

She growls again — 

Treville tries to *will* his cock not to jerk for it — 

He *fails* — 

*Miserably* — 

She glares at him. 

"I'm — I'm definitely sorry," Treville says, raising his hands and pushing at the air a little.

"This *will* work when *I* am less swollen," she says, and makes it sound like a threat to his *bollocks*. 

"Yes! Of course it will!" 

She narrows her eyes. 

They *flare* maroon — 

Treville *pants* — 

"You are *disgustingly* predictable!" 

"I... could... no, I couldn't. Look, Amina-love, I'm a *wolf* now. You're my *mate*. I'm going to be panting after you for the rest of our *lives*." 

"When I am old and grey?" 

"Well, you'll still have those *teeth* —" 

She snorts *hard* — and lies back. "Come *here*." 

"*Thank* you," Treville says, and covers her carefully — 

And carefully doesn't comment on the way she groans, rumbles, wriggles, groans more — 

*Curses* — 

She punches him anyway. 

"I don't think that was fair —" 

She licks his ear. 

She licks his ear *slowly*, *meditatively*, and *thoroughly*. 

Treville groans. "On the other hand, who needs fair."


	5. Adjustments must be made.

It takes about forty minutes for the swelling to go down enough that they can separate, and by then they're *both* ravenously hungry. 

The food Amina had been cooking is a little dry, but it still *tastes* just perfect, as far as Treville's concerned, and, between them, they eat half the pot. 

And then Amina stares at her own belly as if wondering where she'd put it all. 

Treville reaches over and rubs that belly. "You *are* eating for two, now. And how far along —" 

"I —" She blushes. "Lara said two months only, even though I'd missed three cycles. But I didn't eat like this even last night! And *you* didn't eat like this the last time you were here." 

Treville considers — and remembers. "My father said, sometimes, his appetite would be just... huge." 

"Yes? Did he say when? How often?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I'm afraid not. He *did* say that I should be prepared to make friends with a lot of butchers." 

Amina winces. "I can't *afford* that —" 

Treville squeezes her hand. "Yes, you can." 

She growls at him. 

He growls back — 

She shows her *teeth* — 

All right, not right now. "Still, Amina-love, you have to start thinking like *gentry* —" 

"*You* don't." 

"I — all right, I don't, not *all* the time, but I'm not going to let myself — or my wolf — starve." 

She gets a mule-y look on her face. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "You're getting sick of me." 

"I —" And she blinks and blushes and looks shocked — 

"You always start getting those stubborn, leave-me-alone looks —" 

"You *push* me too much —" 

Treville cocks his head to the side. "And maybe you have other plans tonight?" 

"You already *know* I have to see Ife and — and I am not arguing with you," she says, and puts her elbows on the kitchen table and her face in her hands. (I love you so much.) 

I love you with all of myself. I always have. 

(Yes, you — I could tell, you know. Sweet brother. My sweet brother. It's why I could never give up, even though your body didn't love me... that way.) 

Treville moves his chair closer to hers and takes her left hand, bringing it to his mouth. "I don't deserve you waiting for me." 

"Yes, you do."

"I —" 

"Shut it." 

"Hm. Oui, madame."

She laughs painfully and bangs her other fist on the table. "You are going to make me your wife!" 

"As soon as possible —" 

"I... am a little shocked," she says, and her smile is rueful. 

Treville nods. "What can I do?" 

She stands, then, unabashedly naked and strong and so, so beautiful. She tugs Treville to his feet, too. "Give me time," she says, and tugs Treville toward the door. 

"You're making me regret putting clothes on, you know —" 

She smiles so *softly*. "You will *know* better for next time," she says, and pulls him in for a kiss, soft and slow. 

When they break, Treville licks the corners of her mouth. "That I will, Amina-love. That I will." 

She looks at him then, hungry and wild and *greedy* — 

She strokes over his *tunic* — 

She *growls* — 

"Amina —" 

"Belgard is due to pick me up in his *carriage* tomorrow afternoon at his usual time. Perhaps... you could be here, too?"

Treville grins *wide*. "And do what I want?"

Her eyes flare maroon. "I think you should do *that* on less public streets, sweet brother, but... something. Something for both of us." 

Treville inhales sharply — and makes his best leg — 

"Oh — *Treville* —" 

He kisses her *hand* — 

"You *arse*," she says, giggling — 

"Until we meet again, milady," he says, and tips his hat, and makes his exit to the sound of her *breathless* laughter. 

Now to make sure *his* carriage is in working condition — 

And get some flowers — 

Some candies and sweetmeats —

Would a musician be too much?

Well, she'll just hit him if it is, and that's never precisely a bad thing. But — he's going to need some help with all this. 

He checks the state of the moon — 

Realizes that he's doing it by looking *inside* himself —

Ignores that for the time being — 

He knows where his brothers will be.


	6. They've been waiting for you for a while, Fearless.

"Buggering *fuck*, Fearless, you actually *did* it? You asked her to *marry* you?" And Kitos is staring at him from across their small table with a wondering smile on his face. 

Treville ducks his head over his brandy and grins. "That I did." 

"And she said yes?" 

Treville grins wider and nods, and he *means* to take a celebratory drink — he really does — but Kitos is *fast* when he wants to be — 

And Treville is in the *air* — 

"*Hey* — *oof* —" 

— and getting the breath hugged out of him. "Oh, Fearless, I knew you could do it!" 

There are a lot of things he could say to that — 

A lot of *questions* he could *ask* — 

If he had air — 

He's *wheezing* — 

And Reynard is smiling wryly and tilting his chair back on two legs. *He's* drinking *his* brandy — 

Slowly — 

Letting Treville *suffer* while Kitos squeezes and squeezes and *squeezes* — 

Reynard *winks* — 

Treville *gestures* — 

There are little black flowers starting to bloom — 

Kitos may actually *kill* him with love this time — 

And then Reynard snickers, knocks back the rest of his brandy — "Verrat, I believe notre meneur has things he wishes to say to us." 

"Mm? Wha...?" 

"Also, he is a beautiful shade of purple." 

"*Shit*," Kitos says, and drops Treville back onto his chair. 

Treville coughs and wheezes and gasps and coughs *more* — 

Reynard calls for more brandy —

Kitos rubs his chest with those massive, hairy paws of his — 

And Treville drinks. 

And drinks some more. 

And drinks just a little — "Right, I'm better —" 

"Are you?" And Kitos beetles his brows at him. 

Treville grins like the idiot he is. "She's going to *marry* me!"

Kitos looks *extremely* tempted to pick him up again — 

His hands actually *twitch* — 

Reynard reaches over and tugs — gently — on Kitos's long hair. "Verrat..." 

"I won't do it, I won't do it! It's just —" 

"Ah, oui. This is an *event*," Reynard says, and crosses his legs. "Meneur, you *know* you must talk to us, yes?" 

"Yes, I — but wait —" 

"No waiting!" 

"How did *you* blokes know I wanted to marry her? I *never* said —" 

They look at him. 

They look at him *hard*. 

They — 

"I... but..." 

"Meneur. How *many* times do you *think* you have told us the tale of the Spanish merchant, mm?" 

"I —" 

"Round up, Fearless. Round. Up." 

Treville blinks — 

And blushes — 

And — drinking is definitely the better part of valor, here, so he does that — 

Kitos pats him. 

"Notre verrat, he has been pleading your case, you know," Reynard says with an *evil* smile on his face. 

"What — what?" And Treville looks back and forth between them with just a little ice creeping up his bollocks. "What does that mean?" 

Kitos scratches in front of his ear with a finger. "It was obvious you were in love with her after the *first* time you told the story, Fearless. After the *fifth* time —" 

"Fuck —" 

"— I started going over to her rooms on nights when fox-face was distracting you —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"And pointing out that, you know, you might be a *buggerer*, but that didn't stop you from being the marrying kind —" 

"KITOS!" 

"Well, was I bloody *wrong*?" 

Treville stares. 

Reynard laughs so hard his chair almost tips over the rest of the way. 

"*Anyway*, I never got so much as an 'I'll think about it' out of her. What the hell did *you* say?" 

Well...

"*Meneur*, you are blushing! What is this? What *did* you say?" 

"Oh, this is going to be priceless, I can tell," Kitos says, and drinks off some of his own brandy. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I wasn't very *coherent*, mates —"

"And she tolerated this?" Reynard frowns. "She is a not a very kind woman when she is upset — and she *would* have been upset with you." 

"Oh, but he always charms her, fox-face, you know that." 

"This is *true*, but he has his *flair* when he is charming her. He just said — meneur, *tell* us." 

"I um. Well, I talked a lot about how she smelled..." 

They look at him. 

Treville licks his lips and wonders how he's going to — well, no. He's just going to say it. "She thought I was going to *eat* her. I mean, I'd told her *why* I was missing in action last night —" 

"Oui, bien sûr —" 

"Yeah, she would demand that, but —" 

"She yanked me inside by the *scruff*, mates. And — you know how small her place is. You know..." Treville shakes his head and licks his lips. He can feel himself... flaring. "I could smell her everywhere. I could smell her *laundry*. She hadn't taken it in *days*." 

"Uh." 

"Meneur...?" 

"It drove me... up a *tree*," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "See, I'd told the All-Mother, when *She* said that She wanted me to be 'fruitful', that I didn't think I *could*. And then? The goddess *laughed* at me. Like I was — was a *child* saying something *absurd*. And that didn't make any sense —" 

"Until you were smelling — bloody buggering *fuck*, Fearless. Did you... did you and Amina...?"

Reynard is just *staring* — 

Treville grins and *toasts* his brothers. "I would like to thank both of you for the *thorough* education in relatively non-deviant lovemaking you've given me over the years —" 

Kitos splutters — 

"She still had to help me —" 

"Bloody hell, Fearless —" 

"But I wasn't *completely* hopeless —"

Kitos *thunders* laughter — 

"— especially not once I *shifted* in the middle of the whole affair," Treville says, and flourishes with his free hand — 

"Buggering —" 

"You —" Reynard shakes himself as though he's coming out of a *daze*. "*Meneur*." And he leans in across the table. "You took her as the *wolf*?" 

"Not quite," Treville says, and now they're all leaning in. "It was... a halfway form —" 

"*Fuck*, Fearless! And she *liked* that?" 

"She scratched my long ears and licked my muzzle and these trousers are about to get uncomfortable," Treville says, laughing and leaning back again — *starting* to lean back. 

Reynard has him by the tunic. 

"Mm? What is it?" 

But Reynard only searches him for long moments, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. 

Treville catches himself trying to scent him on the air — 

Trying to *read* him that way — 

But all the scents of leather and woodsmoke and alcohol and wet wool — it had squalled an hour or so ago — are confusing his nose. He can't —"Reynard, what's —" 

"You will... share with us," he says, at last, and he's *flushing*. 

"Share — I'll share bloody everything, I've *learned* that lesson —" 

"Chéri, I must *know* your wolf," he says. 

"I'll *tell* you everything —" 

"You..."

"Reynard?" 

Reynard releases him and sits back, smiling wryly again and shaking his head. 

"No, *tell* me —" 

"Tell *me* when we can finally murder the *salaud*." And Reynard raises an eyebrow — 

And there's a blade on the table just that fast — 

And Treville is rumbling and rumbling — Reynard hasn't allowed Belgard his Christian name since he took *up* with Amina — 

And Reynard is licking his *teeth*. "*This* part of your wolf I *already* know — but I would like to know him better." 

Kitos thunders laughter again — does he sound relieved? "Give us glad tidings, Fearless. Has Amina given us permission to rip his balls off, yet?" 

Treville — wags his head. 

Reynard grins. "That does not sound like no..." 

"It *isn't*, mates. We just don't have permission to do it *tomorrow*." 

"Non? What is tomorrow?" 

"Belgard is due to pick her up. My Amina-love said *I* could show up, as well," Treville says, and grins again, spinning Reynard's blade a few times. "I was hoping for some advice — and help — on making that... spectacular." 

"So she doesn't kick you out in the middle of the night again?" And Kitos is *booming* laughter. 

"Well, I'm thinking that I shouldn't try to change her too much, too fast —" 

"Or at all, meneur?" 

"Or at all, and — I have a very big manor. When she wants to kick me out, I can just go to the other *side* of it." 

"And pine," Kitos says. 

"Mais bien sûr." 

"Shit, Fearless, does this mean there are going to be *remarkably* ugly babies with big poofy curls coming out of her soon?" 

"*Hey* — they could look like *her*." 

Kitos and Reynard cross themselves and bow their heads. 

"I find that very offensive, you know." 

His brothers *jerk* their heads up and *stare* at him *worriedly* — 

Until Treville grins like an arsehole and waggles his eyebrows. "The All-Mother didn't actually tell me how I was supposed to pray to her, or *if* I was, or *when* I was, or any of that. I have to ask next time." 

Kitos coughs — 

Reynard looks *pained* — 

And Treville... lolls his tongue in a wolf-laugh. Just a little. 

It feels right. 

It feels *right* — 

And it makes Reynard give him an honestly *hungry* look. He really does want to know the wolf in Treville. It —

He's so bloody *lucky*. He drinks off another brandy — his tolerance for alcohol seems to be *extremely* high now — and licks his lips. "I love you both. I just — I need you to know that." 

"Aw, Fearless —" 

"I — *we* — love you, too," Reynard says, and never looks away from Treville's *eyes*. 

That — 

This is starting to feel a *little* like all those nights when Reynard has wanted to flirt like mad before going off to tumble the woman-of-the-moment, only... 

Only Reynard isn't that *drunk*, for one, and, for another... 

There's an intensity here that's usually lacking those nights. 

There's — 

And Treville is *about* to ask if there's something he's *missing* — but then Kitos *grips* Reynard's shoulder and squeezes *hard* — 

And Reynard pours himself more brandy and drinks — 

And drinks — 

And slams his tumbler down before wiping the back of his mouth and grinning savagely. "You know we must go wake *Laurent* up..." 

And that's almost distracting enough. 

Almost. 

"Are you going to tell me what's *wrong* first?" 

"Fearless —" 

"My brother is getting married," Reynard says, and toys with his tumbler. "I fear... much..."

Treville frowns. 

"Bloody *hell*, fox-face —" 

"*What* are you afraid of —"

"Will you always *be* my brother?"

Treville *rears* back — 

He feels like he's been *hit* — no. He growls and *lunges* across the table — 

He *grips* Reynard by *his* tunic — "Toujours *frères*." 

Reynard pants — "Toujours pas *assez*," he says, and it's a plea, a demand, a *vow* — 

Treville is *growling* — 

Reynard is staring at his *mouth* — but it doesn't *last* for long enough before he's grinning again. "*Now* mon chéri is showing me his wolf," he says, and leans in enough to kiss his cheeks — 

His lips — 

Treville only *barely* stops himself from *biting* instead of kissing back — 

And he can't stop himself from licking Reynard's quick, pink tongue when it seeks for his own.

He doesn't try. 

They break apart more by silent agreement to do so than anything else — there's no woman Reynard is *escaping* him for tonight — 

And Kitos is *looking* at both of them. 

The way he usually doesn't. 

The way he — 

He doesn't, usually, make them admit to what they're doing when they're flirting. When they're touching. When they're — 

When *Treville* is taking every scrap of touch he can get and using it to feed his desperate *fantasies*. 

This — 

Of course Kitos has always *known* what he was doing. Of course it was bloody *obvious*. 

But. 

Does this mean Kitos is now going to call him on doing that with *him*?

Reynard is looking *away*, flushed and obviously *shamed* — 

Treville can't let this — "Kitos —" 

"One question, brother. *One*." 

Treville shuts his mouth and nods. 

"Did you talk to *her* about the fact that you were still going to chase boys — and men?" 

She knew I was in love with both of you when we were all still in that teahouse, Kitos. She knew about Laurent when I was walking her home. She — "She knows. She — we talked, a little, about what we might... save. For each other. As opposed to what we'd give to our other lovers. Not *enough* talk about that, but —" 

Kitos blinks — "Fuck, Fearless, are you turning into an *adult* over there?" 

"I would *never* —" 

"*What* will you save for her, hm?" And Reynard looks hungry again. 

"We didn't get that far. I plan on asking her what she *wants* me to save for her, brother, because I *need* her to save some things for me — or at least for people I don't *mind* her fucking." 

Kitos thunders laughter again. "You don't think she'll quit fucking people you hate *now*?" 

"I. Well, maybe?"

Kitos's laughter seems to echo off the *walls* — 

"*Meneur*, you can *ask* her to do this for you!" 

"Well, of course I can *ask* —" 

Reynard snickers like a boy — 

And Treville grins. "You both *may* have noticed that I *enjoy* her torturing me a *little* bit..." 

"She's had your bollocks in her pocket from day one!" And Kitos pours more brandy for all of them before tucking the bottle in the saddlebag they'd brought in with them. "C'mon, lads, drink up! We've a Captain to rouse!" 

"And *arouse*, if notre meneur is even luckier than he *has* been tonight —" 

Treville splutters his brandy —-

Kitos *whacks* him on the back — but Treville is used to that reaction from him, and doesn't spill any more. He drinks — 

And his brothers drink — 

And they wipe their mouths. 

They tip the maid — a *very* tired-looking Annalise tonight — and head out. 

And, once they're ahorse — 

"Meneur..." 

"Mm?" 

"Why is Éventreur so *calm*?" 

Treville frowns. "I don't know. I'm hoping he isn't sick or something. He's been like this since I — oh." 

"What?" 

"Yeah, what?"

Treville looks down at Éventreur's glossy dark mane in the moonlight — 

Breathes *deep* — 

And smiles ruefully. 

"Fearless?" 

"He's not bloody calm, mates. He's not calm, at all. He's bloody *terrified* of the *wolf* on his back and walking *small* because of it." 

Kitos stares. 

Reynard looks down at his Joséphine, who keeps trying to shy further away from them — from Treville. 

"Right," Kitos says. "*I'm* riding in the middle from now on." 

"We *never* ride that way, verrat!" 

"I know we don't, fox-face, but my Hestia's the only one not twitched by Fearless, here." 

And, true enough, Hestia's just as placid and unconcerned with the goings-on as ever, periodically sighing her vague discontent with the world and everything in it. 

As far as *she's* concerned, Treville could be a bloody *squirrel*. 

So. 

Treville and Reynard exchange looks, shrug, and then Treville rides ahead so Kitos can take his place in the middle. 

It feels *incalculably* strange to take the left. 

*His* left side feels cold, unprotected, *naked* — 

His *right* side feels — 

Well, *Kitos* is there, not Reynard, and he can still *see* Reynard, of course, but — 

Treville growls —

Éventreur slows down even *more* —

Treville stares at him. 

Kitos thunders laughter. "*Fearless*. Stop murdering your poor horse!" 

"I'm not —" Treville growls again — 

Éventreur shivers and *neighs*. 

He *never* — right. 

Treville calms himself *right* down and — rumbles. 

That probably isn't improvement, but, combined with soft words and petting — 

Patting and cosseting like usual — 

Trying to *will* Éventreur to believe he won't get eaten the first, second, *or* twentieth time Treville wants a snack — 

More rumbling — 

More *willing* — 

He gets a little speed back. Éventreur isn't *quite* stepping *lively* for him, but — it's an improvement. 

Treville keeps it up until they're at the *right* speed, and then for just a bit longer — 

And a bit longer than that — 

And he gets a whicker. 

Treville grins. "Is that right, then? You're feeling a little better?"

And Éventreur lifts his great, dark head — 

And steps a little lively.

"Buggering hell, Fearless, is he actually acknowledging you when you *talk* now?" 

"He *always* — well. He *sometimes*... you shut it." 

Kitos laughs at him more. 

Reynard's Joséphine has calmed *dramatically* with him and Hestia between her and Treville — 

And Éventreur is showing some spirit. 

That's good enough to get them to Laurent's rooms in the city — especially since they're closer to the garrison than the de la Fère name and honour should let the man get away with. 

Not that Laurent has ever actually given a *toss* about that kind of thing — as opposed to doing what *he* felt was *correct* at any given time — but still. 

As close to the halls of power Treville really *isn't*, he still hears the whispers. 

Sooner or later, Laurent is going to have to do more to *look* the part of the ancient nobility — or he won't be able to get things done. 

In fact, Treville's reasonably sure he can pinpoint the date when that will happen: Whenever Henri gets weak enough — or dead enough — that power passes to the Queen. 

No one with a mind at Court thinks Louis even takes a shit without asking her *permission* first, and that... 

That doesn't bode well for *either* his rule *or* her regency — should the inevitable happen as soon as it's likely to. 

France needs steel, not iron, and Marie de Medici is the latter right down to her bones.

Laurent knows that just as well as he does. 

Laurent doesn't always keep his mouth shut.

Neither does *he* — ever — but — 

"You're getting grim over there, Fearless." 

"Ah, oui, I promise, if Amina kicks you out on your wedding night, we will take you in and comfort you." 

Treville *coughs* — 

Reynard is leaning over enough to grin at him, teeth flashing in the gloom. 

"Arse." 

"What *are* you thinking about so hard over there, Fearless?" 

"I — Laurent." 

"Yeah? What's the problem? He's going to be thrilled. You know he's been looking for an excuse to introduce Marie-Angelique to Amina *forever*." 

"I —" He does know that. And — Treville grins. "Amina can't *avoid* it anymore!" 

"There you go! Be happy again! But why *was* she avoiding it?" 

Treville represses a growl. "I always got the sense that she was actually a little *intimidated*, mates —" 

"*What*?" 

"Non, non —" 

"*Yes*. She'll tell *any* man where he can take himself, but... I think she was actually worried about making a bad *impression* on Marie-Angelique. I have no bloody idea why." 

Kitos grunts. 

Reynard hums and reties his long hair. "You do not think..." 

"Mm? What?" 

"Perhaps it was *because* Marie-Angelique is a woman." 

"But —" 

"The *only* *other* woman in your life," Reynard says *pointedly*. 

"Oh — shit, yeah," Kitos says. "*And* she's had tutors in literally everything, *and* she has her own library — a library she's read a goodly portion of! — *and* she can do all these fancy things French ladies are supposed to be able to do —" 

"Amina doesn't *care* about all of that!" 

His brothers look at him. 

Treville blinks. "She does care?" 

"You are *gentry*, meneur. She is a former *slave*. I think, perhaps, she *must* care. At least a little." 

Treville — winces. 

Hard. 

Just — 

"You hadn't really thought too much about that side of marrying her, had you, Fearless," Kitos says gently. 

"I — there was a *chance* that she wouldn't have kicked me out tonight, mates. And then I told her that she had to start thinking like gentry." 

"Oh." 

"*Merde* —" 

"*Fearless* —" 

"She was — she was talking about not being able to afford enough *meat* for her new appetites —" 

"Wait, what? What new appetites?" 

And Treville blinks. He hadn't told — shit. He licks his lips. 

"Meneur..." 

"I — lost control. While we were making love." 

"That tends to *happen*, Fearless —" 

"No, I — I mean —" 

"Bloody buggering — what did you *do*?" 

"I bit her. And I broke the skin." 

"Oh, well — if she didn't mind —" 

"No. No, Kitos, you don't —" Treville shakes his head and — 

"He *turned* her, verrat. All the myths, all the stories — you *know*!" 

"But — wait. That's not how *he* got turned!" 

"I think, perhaps, the goddess gives special *attention* to notre meneur's family... and gives them the power to make *new* families," Reynard says, and — his voice is subdued. 

Treville swallows. "That's. That's about the size of it." 

Kitos whistles low. "What did she bloody *say* when she realized what you'd done to her?" 

"Well. She was a bit upset." 

Kitos leans over and whallops him. 

"I can't even protest that —" 

"No, you bloody can't! Do you have *control* of your teeth yet? Is Laurent going to wind up covered in fur the next time he calls you 'brother' passionately enough?"

Treville *rumbles* — 

That's the most *attractive* thought — 

He can't *stop* rumbling — 

"Right, that's it, we're getting a steel *muzzle* for you —" 

"Let us not be *hasty*, verrat —" 

"Don't you start, fox-face —" 

"Notre meneur was *worried* for Laurent before, oui?" 

"Yes —" 

"Why were you worried?" 

"He can't shut his mouth when it's politic to do so, like around people who report to the Queen —" 

"Ah, oui, c'est vrai. An *excellent* reason to be concerned. Now, if our Captain had a bit of *extra* protection..." 

"*Fox*-face —" 

"Hear me *out* —" 

But. Treville is already there in his mind. 

Already there, in the moonlight, and running. 

With his pack. 

His strong, brilliant, beautiful, *wise* pack —

And he would always be a part of them — 

And they would always be a part of *him* — 

His hands are *shaking* on the reins — he stops that. 

He *stops* that. 

Amina is a question within him, a *gentle* push — 

Oh, she's here! 

She's *here* — 

He strokes her, eases her, promises her everything and gives her — everything he is right *now*, from his worry about her feelings with him blundering around like a jackass, to his happiness that they're together, to his worry about Laurent, to his *want*, so much *want* —

(Hmph. You will ask them *first*!) 

I — yes. 

(You *will*!) 

I will! I mean, I won't be making love with them at the time, so it'll be a lot easier — 

(I cannot believe you are still so —) 

And then Treville's head is full of growling. 

Absolutely *full* of — 

Amina-love? I — 

(Jean-*Armand*. I can hear, feel, smell — practically *taste*! — *everything* in your mind now. Everything in your *soul*. What do you think your brothers will taste about you when you change them?) 

Treville — blanches. 

"Fearless? What's wrong?" 

"Meneur?" 

"I — I'm talking to Amina —" 

"What? From *here*?" 

Reynard *starts* to cross himself — stops and spits. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "We're connected now. She can feel... everything. Hear it, too."

(If I *want* to.) 

"If she wants to —" 

"*Dieu* — *meneur*. You cannot keep this from us!" 

"*Fox*-face —" 

"*Non*, verrat —" 

"Amina's his *mate* — uh. Right, Fearless?"

"Yes, but — but. I want. To give it to you. To all of you," Treville says, and ignores the screaming inside him, the fear — 

The *terror* — 

(Good boy.) 

*Amina* — 

(Kitos already knows you are in love with Laurent and Reynard —) 

Shit — wait. Wait. He doesn't know I'm in love with him?

The feel of Amina *looking* at him — 

Looking at him *hard* — 

Looking at him *meanly* — 

*Why* doesn't he know — 

"Uh. Fearless?" 

*Shit* —"I — uh. I meant it. I meant it," he says, and he knows he's flushing, and — "We shouldn't be having this conversation on *horseback* —" 

"Dismount and *bite* us!" And Reynard sounds eager, as mad as *ever* — 

"Just *wait* a minute, fox-face," Kitos says, licking his lips and looking a little — panicked. "We have to — we have to think these things *through* —" 

"What is to *think* about? We could be *connected*, verrat! Always *connected*! To notre meneur and *each other*." 

And Kitos is actually *sweating* — 

Hestia's *ears* are twitching — 

Treville reaches over and grips his arm. "Kitos... we don't have to. We never —" 

"Now — don't — don't *say* that, Fearless. I'm not backing out on you!" 

"It's not about backing *out* —" 

(They are waiting for *your* secrets, sweet brother.) 

Reynard isn't waiting for *anything* — 

(Isn't he?)

I. Treville looks at his brothers — 

At the wild and almost *desperate* look in Reynard's eyes and the *miserable* look in Kitos's — 

No. 

No — he can't let — 

"We — I should... tell you both something I haven't, first. I mean, before I do *anything*," Treville says, and squeezes Kitos's arm — 

Reynard frowns. "What is it, meneur? Tell us *everything*." 

"He doesn't *have* to —" 

"Yes, I do," Treville says, and squeezes Kitos's arm hard. "Kitos — Amina says you've always known how I feel about Reynard and Laurent." 

Kitos grunts — "She — we've never actually — Fearless..." 

"Do you?"

Kitos licks his lips. "Yeah, I do. I always have. I *always* have. It's been right there, all over that frightful mug of yours —" 

Treville laughs ruefully — 

"*What* do you know, verrat? What do you know about how meneur feels about me?" And Reynard is riding his Joséphine too close — 

His eyes are even *wilder* — 

"He knows I'm in love with you," Treville says, and feels everything — Éventreur, the ground, the spheres — disappear from under and around him. "He knows I've been in love with you since we *met*." 

Reynard makes a *hurt* sound — 

It seems almost *punched* out of him — 

"Meneur..."

"He knows I'd do anything *for* you, for *either* of you. He knows... he knows I've been *burning* for you both for *years*. That it didn't *stop* when you rejected me —" 

"Then *why* —" But Reynard stops himself. And pants. And pants *more*. He's flushed dark enough that he's clashing with his freckles in the moonlight, and *he* reaches out to grip Kitos. 

"Fox-face —" 

"Why don't you know that he loves you? Mm?"

Kitos grunts — and rears back. 

Treville calls the all-stop and dismounts. It's late enough that there's no one in the road but them and wandering drunks. 

Kitos and Reynard dismount, as well, and Treville forces himself to just — to just push right into Kitos's *space*. "It's true. I never stopped loving you, Kitos. I never stopped *wanting* you. I don't know why you don't know that about me when you know every-bloody-thing else —" 

Kitos — groans. "I. I pushed you away from me." 

Treville nods. "Once. And that was... I learned my lesson. I never made a move on you again and I never will. I just need you to always be how you *are* with me. I'll do *anything* to have as *much* of you as I can. As much of *all* of you." 

"Ah, *shit*, *Fearless*!" 

"What, what is it, just tell me. Tell me what it is and I'll bloody *fix* it —" 

Kitos lifts his hands — 

They're *shaking* — 

Treville reaches for them — 

And then Kitos *yanks* him close and kisses him hard, *hard*, kisses him exactly like he'd been paying attention to the way Treville *was* with the few men he picked up, as opposed to the boys — 

His lips are so *soft* — 

His beard is so — 

And Treville is groaning, crooning, lapping hungrily at Kitos's thick tongue — 

Kitos grunts and holds him *tighter* — and *fucks* Treville's mouth with his tongue, hard and slow and wet and *nasty*. 

Just — 

Treville *shudders* — 

Treville bloody *takes* it — 

"I have thought..." But Reynard trails off with a moan — 

A *hungrier* moan — 

"I have thought of kisses just like this..."

Treville's *cock* jerks — 

"I have thought — dreamed — of my brothers... touching me..." 

Kitos *growls* into Treville's mouth — 

Shoves him *back* — 

But they're both reaching for Reynard, they're both — 

"Dieu, ah, Dieu, I wasn't ready, s'il te plait, I am *sorry* —" 

"I wasn't ready, *either*, fox-face —" 

"You're both forgiven, am I forgiven?" 

"What the hell did *you* do wrong, Fearless?" 

"I *always* do something wrong — fuck, kiss me, both of you kiss me, or let me —"

And then they're climbing each other right there in the middle of the street, and Treville can't stop himself from licking, nipping, tugging at their beards with his teeth — 

Biting Reynard's peach-coloured lips and *sucking* — 

"*Mm* —" 

Mussing Kitos's beard with his lengthening tongue — 

"*Dieu*, meneur —" 

"*Now* we know why Amina said yes!" 

(Bite him for me.) 

"This is from her," Treville slurs, and bites Kitos's throat — 

"*Shit* — fuck, that feels —" And Kitos groans and *grips* Treville's arse with one huge hand — 

Treville *grunts* — 

*Reynard* grunts — "Ah — ah, *verrat* —" 

"Want to fuck you both, want to fuck you *senseless* —" 

Treville licks up through all that hair to Kitos's ear — "Absolutely —" 

"I — I — I must let notre meneur have me *first* —" 

At which point something breaks in Treville's *mind* — 

He can't — 

He's *aware* that Kitos is *laughing* — probably at him — but mostly he's aware of the fact that he's *mauling* Reynard, biting and licking and *sucking* his long throat, biting more, rubbing his *cleft* through his trousers — 

"Dieu! Ah, Dieu! *Oui*, meneur, *have* me!" 

Reynard's salt is on his tongue — 

Reynard's musk is in his *nose* — 

Treville *bites* — 

Reynard groans and *shakes* in his arms, pushes closer — 

But Treville needs Kitos, too, needs them both, needs — 

Needs them to *know* what he needs. 

He growls low, pressing hard on Reynard's hot hole through his trousers and pulling back — 

"Nnh — non, non —" 

"Let me bite you. Let me bite both of you," Treville says, licking his lips and panting.

Amina is warmth inside him, hunger, *avidity* — 

Amina is watching every *moment* of this — 

(Why wouldn't I?) 

Treville rumbles and rumbles. You're going whoring with us *every* time from now on. 

Amina laughs *hard*. (I promise to critique *all* of your performances.)

Viciously, I hope, Treville says, and licks his lips again. Pants more. "Let me. Let me." 

"You're... still talking to Amina in there?" And Kitos's eyebrows are up.

Treville nods. "She's with me. Watching. She's the one who pointed out that the two of you were *waiting* for my secrets." 

Kitos and Reynard share a look — 

A *grinning* look —

And... Treville gets it. "You actually thought she'd take me away from you arseholes?" 

"I..." 

"We would *never* say that, meneur." 

"While she was listening." 

Amina snorts hard inside him. (*You* were the one who always wished to teach me that men could be fools — even bigger fools than what I already knew!) 

And that's true, but — "It wasn't Marie-*Angelique* who took Laurent away from us." 

"Non —" 

"We know *that*, Fearless —" 

"Mostly." 

"... mostly." 

Treville snorts and shakes his head. "You arseholes." 

"The married men are *different*, meneur. You know this. Always, they try to give as much time as possible to their families *away* from the regiment —" 

"And it doesn't bloody *work*, because our lives aren't *like* that," Treville says. "But Amina's *always* been one of us. And that won't change."

Kitos smiles wryly. "Well. We can see that *now*." 

"What the hell were you seeing *before*?" 

"You, meneur. And her. *Happy*. *Without* us," Reynard says, and reaches up to open his tunic more. "But... if we are all *one* —" 

Treville growls. "Pack. We're going to be — I need you. I need you *all*." 

Reynard's grin is savage again. "Bien. *Take*." 

(I'm going to have a very good time waking him up disgustingly early in the mornings...) 

Treville swallows back a *snicker* and *grips* Reynard by the hair and the arm. "You smell so good, brother." 

"I will *taste* even *better*. *Do* it — NNH —" 

And Reynard's blood in his mouth is — perfect. Just — 

A part of him only wants to know why he isn't doing this with his *knot* in Reynard's arse, but this is good, too, this is right, this is — 

Oh, there's so much he can *feel* — 

So much passion, love, madness — 

A different *kind* of wildness — 

And then. 

Then the same kind, more and more while he laps, while he forces himself in, while he *contaminates* — 

Reynard is *moaning* — 

And then he's *crooning* — 

"*Shit*, Fearless —" 

And then Reynard is laughing, growling, pulling back — 

So strong in his arms, so — 

"I was *made* to be your weapon!" 

*Treville* growls — 

And then Reynard shakes himself — and bares his throat with pride and grace and — beautiful instinct. 

Treville *grips* his cock and *squeezes* — 

"Mm. *Oui*, meneur," he says, and licks his sharper teeth. "And it is notre verrat's turn..." 

Yes. 

*Yes*.

He can feel Amina reaching for Reynard — 

Feel Reynard's shock and pleasure — 

(She has been *yours*, all *yours*, meneur —) 

('She' is right *here*.) 

(I. Hm. Would you say you have *not* belonged to notre meneur?) 

(I *belonged* to him before we ever *met* —) 

(*Oui*, *that*, and the moment the two of you locked eyes on each other —) 

(— but I've never been a tame *dog*.) 

Reynard grunts. 

Treville grins. They'll be fine. He moves for Kitos, trying not to be *too* predatory about it — 

Trying — 

And Kitos booms laughter that's only a little bit nervous. "Oh, just come *here*, Fearless! I *promise* I'm not a blushing virgin anymore!" 

"Well, no, and now everyone within three blocks *knows* that —" 

Kitos laughs harder. "What did you do to fox-face? Is he — is he talking to Amina?" 

"She's explaining certain facts to him," Treville says, and grins. 

And Kitos smiles down at him softly. "You've always been so proud of her." 

Treville blinks. "I — of course I have —"

"Easy, easy, Fearless — she's perfect. And bloody perfect for *you*. I'm just saying. If you'd told me, before that first night in the teahouse, that my grumpy little arsehole of a brother would be able to *recognize* that kind of perfect if it didn't come wrapped in a pretty *boy*..." And Kitos shrugs. "Well." 

Treville swallows. "I recognized it in you all along."

"Fearless —"

"I —" Treville growls. "When you convinced me to stop pretending to not be a buggerer, I knew you weren't making a move on me, but. But I was already in love with you. I just fell *more* in love with you. You were — so brave. So gentle. So *perfect* with me. Not letting me get *away* with anything — especially not hurting myself." 

"Oh — of *course* not —" 

"And I needed you. And I promised myself — that day and *every* day — that I'd do anything to keep you close." 

Kitos looks — wounded. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "So... I'm not always an idiot." 

Kitos shudders. "It took me — too bloody long to realize that what I was feeling... that the *need* I had for you, to be *close* to you, to *touch* you all the time, to gather you up and *hold* you even when you were protesting and *wheezing*..." Kitos growls. "It took too long to realize what it was. And when I *did* realize what it was... I thought it was too late. You were... so *good* with me. Heh. 'Good'. So bloody *well-behaved*! When every pretty boy in range of your hands got a grope!" 

Treville winces — 

"When *Reynard*, who'd *also* rejected you — and you'd *told* me about that, and I was so bloody *surprised*, because I *knew* he was in love with you —" Kitos growls again. "You were all over each other. I *knew* it was only a matter of time for the two of you!" 

"I just... didn't want to chase you away. Reynard was flirting with me from the *beginning*. Kissing and touching —" 

"Because he *wanted* you. Before *he* knew it —" 

"And you weren't. Not — like that." 

Kitos blinks and stares. "And that's — that's all it is. Isn't it. Because I never — oh, buggering *hell*, Fearless!" 

Treville shrugs ruefully. "I'm *not* Fearless. Not — not always —" 

"You —" Kitos *yanks* the collar of his tunic aside. "You just need *pushes* sometimes —" 

"Kitos —" 

"And we'll *remember* that —" 

"*Oui*," Reynard says, and comes close — 

(We *all* will,) Amina says. 

"And we'll bloody tell Laurent, too. Now get *over* —" 

Treville growls and pounces, rocking Kitos on his feet, but not knocking him down, not ever — 

Oh, Kitos — 

He *bites* — 

"*Shit*, that's — that's so *hot* —" 

"*Literally* hot, non? His *mouth*." 

Kitos groans and squeezes him close, cups the back of his head and *holds* him in place — 

(*Every* time he bit me, I either spent... or came close...) 

"Oh — oh, fuck, I just heard —" 

Reynard laughs *filthily* — 

(*Me*. You heard *me*. And you *will* hear me more *often*.) 

Treville groans and laps and laps and — 

And Kitos laughs hard, inside and out. *Quieter* inside than out. (Anything you say, mum! About that spending...) 

And Treville can feel Amina concentrating hard — 

Feel her *working* to do *something* — 

He pulls back from Kitos's shoulder, meaning to try to help — and then he's shuddering and *bucking*, because he's *reliving* what it had been like to *rut* into her and into her and *into* her with his *knot* — 

While he bit *down* — 

While she *howled* — 

And Kitos is shaking and *groaning* — 

And Reynard is shuddering and *falling* against them — "*Fuck* — I can feel —" 

"I can feel Fearless *fucking* me!"

"Dieu — ah, Dieu, so hard, so *hard* —" 

"And — and when did your bloody cock get so — so bloody *big*?"

"It was *always* — but —" And Reynard is moaning incoherently and shuddering *more* — 

Treville can't stop *shoving* against Kitos — 

And then Amina yips and yips and *howls* in all of them, and they can feel — 

They can feel her spending *now* — 

The memories and sensations cut off *sharply* — 

She'd been tossing herself *off* — 

She. 

"Dieu..."

Kitos drops Treville onto his feet and doubles *over* with laughter.

"Right, but, *Amina* —" 

(Shh, I am basking.) 

"*Merde*. I think I feel *used*." 

Kitos laughs *harder* — 

Several of the people who *live* on this street come to their windows to tell them to shut the bloody hell *up* — 

Reynard's still too stunned to aim either of his pistols at them, which is a *good* thing, but — 

"Come on, mates, time to get ahorse —" 

"I just —" Kitos wheezes — "I just want to know if that's the *closest* we're going to get to the Promised Land, mum." 

(Hmph. If you keep calling me *that*? Yes.) 

Kitos blinks — 

Mounts Hestia — who sighs — 

"You mean if I call you something else —" 

(We'll see.) 

"I still feel very — Joséphine, you must calm *down*," Reynard says, patting and trying to soothe her — 

She's shying *hard* — 

And... hm. 

"Put your teeth away, Reynard." 

"I — I am not sure *how*, meneur. They just seem to *want* to be... well. How do you do this?"

"I think about the fact that the moon is waning. That it's not yet *time* for the wolf to be out. That it's time for the man." 

Reynard blinks — 

Focuses *obviously* — 

Shakes his head and *looks* at the setting moon — and takes a deep, slow breath. 

And another. 

And another. 

And Joséphine starts to settle.

And, when Reynard grins at them, his teeth are back to normal. This time, when he soothes and pets his extremely temperamental horse, she listens.

Eventually, they're all mounted and moving. 

And...

"Ma'am?"

(No!) 

Kitos scratches at his beard. "... Madame?" 

(I will set *fire* to all your beautiful hair!) 

"You think my hair is beautiful?"

(We will *both* miss it very much!) 

Treville grins and leads them into Laurent's neighbourhood. "Try less proper." 

"This leads me to a question, meneur." And Reynard peers at him from around Kitos — Joséphine still doesn't want anything to do with *Treville*. 

"Mm?" 

"Are you still going to be calling Amina 'sister' when you are *wed*?" 

"Why wouldn't I?" 

Kitos booms laughter, but, this close to the garrison, no one really cares. 

And honestly — "She's *your* sister, too, you know. Both of yours." 

"Ah, oui, we would never deny this!" 

"Not ever! But... uh..." 

And his brothers give him pained looks. 

"*What*?" 

"Meneur. We have not wanted to make *love* with our sisters." 

"No. We — no." 

Amina — guffaws. 

It — 

Treville *has* heard her make those noises before — often — but he hadn't realized she would make them in her *head*, too. 

It really is a kind of *amazing*. 

"Ah, oui, vraiment."

"*Very* impressive —" 

"But also — why *don't* you want to make love to your sisters?" 

Kitos and Reynard stare at him. 

Amina makes a sound like a crow just flew down her throat and is very unhappy about it. 

"*What* — oh."

Kitos booms more laughter — "*Yes*, Fearless, *oh*." 

"But —" 

"No *buts*!"

"*But*, when you think about it, the only sisters we really *have* now *are* Amina and Marie-Angelique." 

(Do *you* want to have sex with Marie-Angelique, sweet brother?) 

"I —" 

Reynard snickers. "I think there may be a *correct* answer to this question, meneur." 

"I —" And then Treville remembers what they were talking about earlier — 

How Amina might *feel* about Marie-Angelique — 

"Uh..."

Kitos booms and leans over to whallop him. "Don't *break* him, Amina! We need this arsehole!"

Amina's laughter is... evil. 

Absolutely, unequivocally — 

"Amina-love —" 

She laughs *harder* — and then she hums. (Kitos and Reynard were right the *first* time, sweet brother. She is *educated*. She is *accomplished* in all the ways I am *not* —) 

"You —" 

(Shut it!)

Treville growls — 

(You want to *defend* me. You want to defend my *honour*. Never think I do not *love* this. But she is soft, and French, and pretty in *those* ways, and there have been times when I have wished for that.) 

"You *shouldn't* —" 

(Did you never wish to be something else, my sweet brother?)

"I —" 

(Something which would *attract* *your* brothers?)

Treville *rears* back, annoying Éventreur — 

(I knew, of course, that Marie-Angelique had nothing *for* you... in those ways. But that did not stop me from... wishing.) 

"Amina-love..."

(And now, of course, things have *changed*. *You* have changed, sweet brother. How much?)

"You're my *mate*. That's all that *matters*." 

(I think we have proven —) 

"Kitos and Reynard don't *bother* you. You *love* them. You always bloody *have*. We both know that — even if those arseholes are still figuring it out. Marie-Angelique is a *sticking* point, and I — I'm never going to hurt you." 

She croons — 

"I *love* you —" 

(I need...) 

"Tell me what you need. Tell me *exactly* what you need, and I'll *give* it to you —" 

(Do you *want* her. Do you... is she *beautiful* to you now. Do you *need* her. I need to *know* this!)

"I'll never —" 

(Tell me!) 

Treville frowns — and nods. "I've always liked her. She's smart like you, and *hard* like you. She doesn't let anyone get away with *anything*. She's open-minded and funny, though she doesn't have as many good laughs as you do —" 

(Jean-*Armand*.) 

"And — that's not what you want to know. Right. I don't know, yet, Amina-love. I try to think of her the way she was when I last saw her, when I was out to their manor. I try to think of her soft hands, and her hair, her blond curls..." He frowns. 

(*What*? What is it?) 

"I couldn't smell her well enough, Amina-love. I couldn't... she's beautiful, and I *like* her, and I *do* consider her my sister, and, for a part of me, now, that *is* enough. I think I *could* enjoy making love with her —"

(Then —) 

"But I need her scents to know for sure. I need... just a little more." 

(And if you lose control once you *do* have her scents, sweet brother? The way you did with me?) 

"I won't —" 

(Or once you have her *blood*, sweet brother, because you *will* be making her a part of this *pack*.) 

Treville snarls, making Éventreur freeze up under him — it can't be helped. "I don't think you understand what it means that you're my *mate*, Amina. But you will."

And he *pushes* that at her, *shoves* it at her with all his need for her to understand that there's no one who *can* make him lose control like her, no one who *will* make him lose control like her — 

That's just how it *works* — 

(I... need to think more.) 

"*Amina* —"

She laughs with rueful pain inside all of them. (Ife always said that, if I let you, you would make me into the kind of woman who *worried* about how *beautiful* she was —) 

"*No* —" 

(*I* told her you would never want this of me —) 

"You're the most beautiful woman in the bloody spheres!"

(That. *That*. So. This is what I must think about. This is what I must *fix* in myself... until I am ready to meet Marie-Angelique for myself.) 

"Let me *help* —" 

"Amina... *we* are also willing to help," Reynard says quietly.

"In *any* way," Kitos says, also quietly, as they dismount in front of the hostler that really is *directly* across from Laurent's rooms. 

Well, no one can say he's not used to the smells. 

And — Amina is quiet within them for long moments. 

*Silent*. 

Treville croons — 

They haven't rung the bell to wake the stableboys, yet —

(My. My brothers...)

"That's right," Kitos says. "What can we *do*?"

Treville feels Amina's spirit — caress him. 

He wants to learn how to do that *immediately* — 

(You have been stroking and petting and *nosing* at me all *night*!) 

... oh. 

This time, Amina's laugh is better — and those gasps and rumbles strongly suggest she's caressing Kitos and Reynard, too. 

Kitos grins. "Thank you *very* much, sister."

"Oui, ma soeur, c'est si bon —"

(If you want to help me, then you'll remember that I — get frightened. Just like you. And I get *aroused* just like you. And I get *hungry* just like you. And I get *angry* just like you, and — everything else. Everything. Sometimes I believe you all forget I am a *person*. Not all in the same ways... but.)

Treville nods slowly. "You were... too much of a light in my world when I needed it most, Amina-love. I forget you have dark times, too. I'll do better from now on." 

(Yes, you *will*.)

"We will all help him, ma soeur — and ourselves, as well," Reynard says, and tips his hat. 

"That we will," Kitos says, and tips his own. 

And the entire *feel* of Amina is *expectant*, which...

Treville grins. "Do *me* a favour, Amina-love?" 

(I will think about it —) 

"Think about me sucking and nibbling on those bite-scars while I work my knot into your cunt until you *definitely* can't go to sleep."

(... you *arse*.) 

Treville grins wider — and tips his hat. 

(Good *night*.) 

And the feel of Amina *dims*... but doesn't fade completely. 

The feel of his brothers is loud and — wonderful. 

Treville rings the bell. 

"About that knot thing, Fearless." 

"I was definitely surprised." 

"Yes, but..." And Reynard trails off. 

Treville shifts his grip on Éventreur's reins a little and peers over. "Mm?" 

Kitos takes the opportunity to whack the back of his head. 

"*Hey* —" 

"You earned it." 

"Oui, meneur, you did." 

"I —" 

"We're going to be going about our business —" 

"Happily fucking whores —" 

"Or tavern maids —" 

"Or farmgirls, we cannot forget those, verrat —" 

"No, absolutely not —" 

"And all of a sudden —" 

"We're going to bloody *knot* them." 

"— *tie* them —" 

"Like *dogs* in the bloody *street* —" 

And then the doors open, and two sleepy stableboys are there, gesturing them in. 

Not *every* horse in the place wakes up and complains about their presence, which is a good sign, but... 

But. 

They get out fast. 

"*As* we were saying —" 

"*Dogs*," Reynard says. "In the *street*." 

Treville sighs and leads them across the way to Laurent's building. "We were only tied for about forty minutes, you know." 

Reynard splutters — 

Kitos thunders — 

And Laurent opens the door with a wry expression on his face. 

He's most of the way into his leathers — and *armed* — but he's also mussed enough around the face and head that it looks like he actually *was* sleeping at *some* point, which is a relief. 

Treville smiles. "Don't worry, sir. It's good news." 

Laurent raises an eyebrow. "Good news that couldn't wait until morning?" 

Reynard grins and wraps an arm round Treville's shoulders, patting his chest with the other hand. "Notre meneur is getting *married*, sir." 

"That he is," Kitos says, and cuffs him *lightly* this time. 

"That I am," Treville says, and grins, too. "I need your help making things... perfect." 

A *complex* array of expressions chase themselves across Laurent's face — everything from shock to joy to calculation to worry to wonder to — and Treville knows this now — jealousy. In the end, his expression settles on warmth and love and *happiness*, and he beckons them all in. 

"But you must be quiet, Marie-Angelique is visiting from the countryside and trying to get some rest —" 

"No, she isn't," Marie-Angelique says, smiling at them in the dimness of the foyer. She's dressed perfectly — though her hair is unpinned. "Did I hear correctly? You're getting married, Treville?"

"I am," Treville says, sweeping his hat off and bowing with his brothers, then standing straight. "Amina accepted my proposal tonight." 

"And I *still* have yet to *meet* her," Marie-Angelique says, wistful and acquisitive at once. "I don't suppose...?" 

Treville has... no idea how to answer that — 

"I... ah. I believe she has many preparations and *obligations* to her family, Marie-Angelique," Reynard says, *saving* him — 

(Yeah, fox-face gets points for that one,) Kitos says. 

Marie-Angelique nods and frowns. "Well. I've already woken a few staff. We should have refreshments soon enough. Shall we retire to the study?"


	7. Definitely let's hash this out.

Laurent frowns at the small, neat list in his hand — 

Scrawls a few more notes — 

Frowns more —

Marie-Angelique pours more tea for all of them, then sips hers serenely —

Laurent frowns *direfully* — 

And Treville can't take it. "Laurent —" 

"One moment, brother," Laurent says distractedly, then scrawls more notes. 

He's frowning even *more* direfully — 

He — 

"But if there's a problem —" 

"There isn't," he says, looking up, and taking in all of them with that commander's gaze. "We *will* be able to get everything we need to make this afternoon *correct*, short of unforeseen circumstances." 

Treville blinks — "Oh. Yes?" 

"Yes," Laurent says, and smiles at him softly. "I'm so proud of you, little brother." 

Treville blushes *hard* —

Kitos reaches over and ruffles his bloody *hair* — 

Treville snaps at him. 

Literally. He — 

Well, he hadn't actually *meant* to do that — 

They're staring at each other and *blinking* — 

Everyone at the *table* is staring at him — 

Treville winces and leans back in his chair. "I'll um. Work on that reflex." 

Laurent hums. "You do that. I think —" 

"Just a moment, husband," Marie-Angelique says, and sets her teacup down neatly. 

"Yes, wife?" 

"I believe there's something you forgot to mention...?" 

"Ah." 

Treville blinks and *looks* at Laurent. "You didn't *tell* her?"

"Hm. It hadn't yet come up? No, that's a terrible —" And Laurent cuts himself off and turns to Marie-Angelique, taking her hand in both of his own. "Treville is a werewolf now."

Marie-Angelique blinks once — 

Twice —

*Starts* to turn — 

Stops — 

Licks her *lips* — "That's going to make the wedding itself somewhat difficult, if we plan to have it in a *church*." 

"I had thought about that. I planned to petition the King to marry Treville and Amina himself. There is much owed to his family —" 

"Oh, yes, that *would* work," Marie-Angelique says, and breathes easier. "Good thinking, husband." 

"Thank you very much, wife." 

Marie-Angelique goes back to sipping her tea. 

Laurent turns back to them. "As I was saying, I think it would be a better idea to use my carriage instead of your own. The coat of arms *is* a problem, but my carriage is bigger, in better condition, and already in the city, besides —" 

"Wait, uh. We should say..." And Kitos trails off and looks to Treville and Reynard — 

They're all a little bit stunned — 

But. 

Marie-Angelique is herself, and has always been herself. 

Right now, she's raising a little blonde eyebrow at them. 

Laurent is raising his own. 

Treville needs to — cope. Right now. "I turned them. I turned all of them. Amina, Kitos, Reynard — they're all wolves now." 

Laurent blinks once. 

Marie-Angelique cocks her head thoughtfully. "Are they your *pack*?" 

"Yes, absolutely, and I know it's a lot to ask, and I wouldn't make any — any *demands*, or anything like that —" 

"He wants to turn you both, too," Reynard says. 

"He *really* does," Kitos says. 

"I really do," Treville says, "because you're my family, and I love you, and that works — a certain *way* in my head now —" 

Kitos whallops him — 

*Hard* — 

Harder than he ever bloody — but he's stronger now. He's — 

"Ow?" 

"Tell it *all*, Fearless." 

"I *am*." 

"You're sodding not!" 

And Reynard is glaring at him, too — 

And. 

And this is where he takes a deep breath, because Marie-Angelique is right there, and has *been* right there, and she's wearing perfume, which is a problem for his nose, but she'd also sweated through having a *lot* of sex with Laurent, and that. 

That isn't a problem, at all. 

That isn't. 

That's musk and slick and salt and sweetness and *tang*. That's — 

That's *both* of them, and — 

He's growling. 

He's looking right at her and he's *growling*, and he can feel Amina — 

He can *always* feel Amina —

I'm not losing control, Amina-love. I want her, but I'm not losing control.

She doesn't answer him in words. Just in a little caress. 

He strokes her back, and stops growling, and *focuses* on Laurent and Marie-Angelique, who are *both* studying him hard. 

They're so well-*suited* for each other — 

They — 

"What aren't you saying, brother?"

"That I want you. That I *desire* you, *both* of you. I — I've been in love with *you*, Laurent, since I was *fourteen* —" 

"*Stop*," Laurent says, standing and starting to pace — 

"Husband..." 

"I am incapable of having this conversation — logically —" And *Laurent* growls —

Treville stands — 

"Sit *down*!" 

Treville *yips* — and sits down. And bares his throat. And blushes. 

And Laurent stares at him *wildly* — 

There are spots of colour high on his cheeks — 

And Marie-Angelique sets her cup down again and steeples her fingers. "I believe it's time for *us* to admit that we've been discussing the prospect of inviting you — all of you, but especially Treville — into our bed for quite some time." 

Treville *grunts* — 

Kitos and Reynard are *staring*, *slack*-jawed — 

And Amina *rises* within him, *focuses* within him — 

Treville can feel her *hot* curiosity — 

The anger he knows *she* thinks she doesn't deserve — yet — 

Marie-Angelique looks directly *at* him. "One of the reasons why I didn't *urge* my husband to speak to you on this matter — other than his insistence that you would have no interest in a woman's body — was your obvious love for your Amina. I didn't wish to tread where I wasn't welcome." 

Amina's *shock* is large within him — 

"This, of course, fueled my *need* to meet her — to *speak* to her, and, perhaps, make common *cause*..." Marie-Angelique smiles wryly. "The way you speak of her... well. *I* always knew that there was a *chance* that, someday, perhaps, you could love a woman the way you loved men and boys. Mustn't the body *always* follow the spirit? Certainly, the priests would have it so." She leans forward slightly. "Are you connected to your Amina now, Treville? Is she... close?" 

Treville nods. "She... we're connected now. I'm connected to everyone I've turned —" 

Laurent *snarls* — "I want — don't *listen* to me!" 

Treville looks to Laurent — 

Their eyes meet for a *long* moment — 

Laurent looks enraged and *smells* so hungry, so wild, so *aroused*, so angry-needy-*hot* —

And. It's not *yet* the time to promise him that he'll do anything. 

They have to work this out. 

They have to — and he can do this right. Treville tries to promise everything with his *eyes* —

Laurent grips the back of his chair and makes the *wood* creak — "Talk. To Marie-Angelique." 

Treville licks his *lips* — "I'll do that — right now," he says, and turns back to her. "We can speak over long distances. We can... feel each other. Touch each other —" 

Laurent *growls* more — 

Treville doesn't *look* — 

Kitos grips the back of his head and *helps* him not look — 

Reynard is pretending to behave. 

(I am not pretending! He looks like he is about to throw the furniture *through* our bodies, meneur.) 

Well, there's that — but wait, you don't just find that more arousing? 

Kitos coughs and lets go — 

(Ah, well, I must admit, there have been nights...) 

That's what I *thought* — 

Marie-Angelique clears her throat. Delicately. 

They *all* cough and look *sharp* — 

Laurent is staring at them wonderingly — 

"You were all communicating a moment ago," Marie-Angelique says. "Yes?" 

"Ah, oui, you have our apologies —" 

"Fearless and fox-face were lusting for your husband, mum." 

Laurent looks *confused* —

Kitos nods to him. "It's the passionate rage, sir. They're both remembering you tossing them around the training fields and adding a bit more *directed* violence to it." 

The confused look turns *thoughtful*...

And Marie-Angelique hums. "And you, Kitos? Do you also desire my husband?" 

"Uh... well... he kind of *raised* us recruits when we were regular Army..." 

"Yes?" 

And Kitos laughs hard. "Of course I want both of you, mum —" 

"You're simply more in control of your feelings?" 

"*Fuck*, no! I'm having a shock!" And Kitos laughs harder. 

Marie-Angelique grins, plump cheeks dimpling. "Hmm. Perhaps we should *examine* you..." 

"Oh my *God*, mum —" 

"As an aside, the midwife has confirmed that I'm pregnant with our first child. Two, perhaps three months along —" 

They cheer and whistle and clap — 

Laurent blushes like a *boy* —

Looks *down* - 

And Marie-Angelique clears her throat again. 

"We are *listening*, Marie-Angelique," Reynard says, leaning in and grinning.

Kitos and Treville do the same — 

"I am *miserably* ill much of the time, but... when I'm not..." 

Treville raises his eyebrows. "Yes?" 

Marie-Angelique looks to Laurent and laughs softly. "What is the phrase, husband? 'Randy as a *goat*?'" 

Laurent blushes *harder* — 

Kitos *booms* laughter —

Reynard seems tempted to crawl under the table and offer his assistance right then and *there* — 

(I *am*, meneur!) 

Talking *first*, you satyr — 

(Will you grip my horns while you are fucking me hard...?) 

And it's not a *new* fantasy to be holding hanks of Reynard's long hair in both hands while he fucks him, while he fucks him *brutally* hard — 

But now Reynard can see it. 

Now Reynard can *share* it with him, and make the Treville in the fantasy pull the fantasy-Reynard's hair hard enough that his head is back — 

That his throat is bared — 

"Well, we've lost them again," Kitos says, and whallops *both* of them. 

"*Kitos* —" 

"*Ow* —" 

"What was it this time," Laurent says, and is staring *directly* into Treville's eyes. 

"I... Reynard was considering crawling under Marie-Angelique's skirts before we spoke more, sir. I... admonished him." 

"And then he distracted you. With what?" And Laurent's eyes are wide, full, hungry. They — 

"Your eyes used to look like that when we were regular Army," Treville blurts. 

"I'm sure they did." 

"When — when you were *interrogating* me about my *predilections* —" 

"Other times, as well." 

Treville blinks — "When?" 

"When I was watching you with your boys — and your men — and wondering... no. When I was *watching* you, and turning the expressions in *your* eyes over and over in my mind, and trying to make them... into anything I could hold to myself." And Laurent bares his teeth. "I couldn't." 

Treville grunts — and whines. 

"That sound... tell me what you were just thinking brother. Tell me... tell me *what* was arousing you so much in *that* moment." 

"Reynard, sir. Reynard teasing me about fucking him. And then... helping me refine one of my fantasies."

Laurent breathes through his mouth. "And do you have fantasies of me, brother?" 

"I —" 

"Don't call me sir." 

"N-no?"

Laurent shakes his head slowly, not looking away from him. "You're my brother, and I love you, and I need you, and I..." He growls *more*. "I want — give me a fantasy. Please." 

"The first fantasy I ever had about you — I. You take me into your tent while we're on maneuvers. I'm on punishment. You put me on my knees and *lecture* me while you're giving me your cock. The lectures changed a lot. The fundamentals didn't."

Laurent blinks — 

Marie-Angelique raises an eyebrow thoughtfully —

Reynard screws up his face and nods like a connoisseur of filth —

Kitos pats his back. "Good job, Fearless." 

"Thank you —" 

"Are all your fantasies of me..." And Laurent licks his lips and frowns. 

Treville lifts his nose helplessly. He can smell *worry*. "Laurent? What is it?"

"Brother... I don't *always* want to... discipline you..."

But you do *sometimes*, and that's *wonderful* — no. "Laurent, I — I've had ten *years* to fantasize about you. I can honestly say that *whatever* you want, I've probably tossed myself off to it a *lot*." Treville grins. "And probably in front of you at least twice." 

Marie-Angelique hums again. "I've often wondered if the state of the French gentry would improve if there were more public masturbatory activities." 

"Mum, I'd like to talk to you about that for *hours*," Kitos says. "Preferably while you were on my lap." 

Marie-Angelique laughs hard. "Laurent doesn't do that *nearly* enough, you know." 

"*Shame* on you, brother, letting a fine woman like this go un-dandled!" And Kitos waggles one huge finger at Laurent —

Laurent *looks* at Kitos — 

Kitos grins and winks — 

And then Laurent *blinks* — and smiles. "We truly are having *this* conversation. *All* of us are. It — and it's going *well*." 

"*Oui*, Laurent, oui, so come, sit down, relax —" 

"I can't relax." 

"Non?" 

"I..." And he looks at Treville again. "Was it our positions, brother? Our... no, I can't — I can't *think* of anything which would *stop* you — *you* — from telling me what you *wanted* of me. I had to constantly intercede on your behalf because of the ridiculously insubordinate things you would say to *both* of our superiors *when* you were fourteen. What *stopped* you?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I would... make little games with myself. 'If Laurent looks at me while I'm tossing myself off.' 'If Laurent shows *any* sign of arousal when I'm talking about *this* kind of buggery.' 'If Laurent —'" 

"*Treville* —" But Laurent snarls again — 

Looks to be in danger of smashing at least a solid fraction of his own *furnishings* — 

His eyes are *wild* again — 

And Kitos sighs. "On it, sir," he says, and whallops Treville hard. 

"I — *what*." 

"Fearless, you arse, you've been his special pet from the *beginning*." 

"Oui, it was obvious from the day we got our commissions," Reynard says. "You *held* each other as if your hearts would cease to *beat* if either of you let go." 

"And you *didn't* let go that night," Kitos says, and holds his cup out for more tea, nodding his thanks to Marie-Angelique. "Laurent dragged you off and kept you *all* night, the way he did when we were kids, and I just knew the two of you were *finally* having one — or several — off." 

"I wanted to," Treville says, and rubs the back of his head as the rising bruises heal. "Of course I wanted to." He looks to Laurent. "You were... so emotional that night. We all were, but you were *shaking*, and there were tears in your eyes —" 

"I *remember* — of course I remember —" Laurent growls. "What did you *want*?" 

Treville smiles. "I wanted a kiss. I wanted... to hold your beautiful face between my hands and kiss you until you — not until you calmed down. Until you had different reasons to be emotional. I had to — I kept staring at your mouth. Too much —" 

"Not too *much* — I didn't — I didn't *notice* —" 

"Of course you didn't. You were thinking about the regiment —" 

Laurent bangs his fist on the table, making the heavy wood *shake* just a little —

"Husband." 

"I —" Laurent hisses between his teeth. "You have my apologies, wife."

"Mm," she says, and turns to Treville. "You drank heavily that night...?"

"I did. And stayed with Laurent all night, anyway. I blacked out at some point... when I woke up, I was in my own bed, alone, and Laurent had left me a beautiful note thanking me for my *companionship*." And Treville smiles ruefully again — 

"I knew you *desired* me, but I." And Laurent pants and pants and — stares. 

Treville blinks — and blushes. "Laurent...?" 

"I *knew*. I saw... the expressions on your lovely face —" 

"Laurent —" 

"Don't *interrupt* me." 

Treville *grunts* — 

Bares his throat again — 

"And this... this is, perhaps, why you *sir* me even when..."

Laurent paces away again — 

Pushes his hands through his hair, left then right — 

Paces back — "I *need* you!" 

"I'm yours," Treville says, because he bloody *has* to — 

And Laurent shudders and nods. "That. That... is what I could never see." 

"What —" 

"I knew you desired me — at times. I knew you respected my skills and abilities as a soldier. With time, I came to know that you loved me as your eldest brother. And that... that was so *warm*. That was so *much*. Do you understand that you and Honoré — *Kitos* — were the only family I *had* for *years*?" 

"It — it was the *same* —" 

"Yes. Yes, of course it was. Of course — and I must not whinge. But..." And Laurent grips the back of his chair with both hands. "I loved you. I fell in love with you... I don't know when. I *believe* it must have happened gradually, while I was paying attention to other things, but I have no way of knowing. I only know that I found myself dragging you to my tent one night, yet again, and you were cursing and growling and putting up just *enough* of a fight to be *irritating*, and I realized. 

"I realized what the longing I felt when I was near you meant. 

"I realized what the *hunger* meant." 

"Laurent..."

Laurent smiles, but it has the slickness, the pain, of *bone*. "I never *knew*, brother. You would *fight* and *complain* when you had to be in my presence. *Alone* in my presence. You would *run* from my tent — or my quarters, or wherever we *were* — to go back to Honoré's *side*. You... it was always a *privilege* to be *with* you, brother, and you made me *feel* that." 

Treville *flinches*. 

"Oh — no — don't —" 

"Don't take that back, Laurent. Don't." Treville swallows and stands. 

"Don't —" 

"I *hurt* you." 

"I hurt myself *with* you —" 

"I didn't tell you the *truth* —" 

"I — I was older, I should have —" 

"I should have remembered," Treville says, and moves across the room to just be *close* to Laurent, to be in his *space*, to smell his sweat, his struggle — 

Laurent pants and looks down into his eyes. "Remembered what...?" 

"That you never hurt me. That —" Treville shakes his head. "Even when we were sparring. Even when we were sparring with *steel*. You'd take every *blow* from me — and beat me to the ground without so much as *bruising* me. I should've —" 

"You... thought I would have *hurt* you?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "Not on purpose. I knew you'd never have done *that*. But... I loved you so much. I *love* you so much. I was... afraid."

Kitos grunts. "Fearless, how many times do I have to tell you not to *do* that?" 

Treville coughs a laugh and starts to turn. "I —" 

But Laurent tugs him back to face him. 

"Laurent?" 

Laurent *searches* him for long moments — and then strokes his long, callused thumb over Treville's mouth.

Treville winces with *lust* and turns to kiss Laurent's thumb once it pauses at the corner of his mouth.

Laurent growls. "Just that. Just... that..."

Treville kisses him again — 

Laurent makes a low, *hungry* noise — 

Treville *reaches* for Laurent's hand, meaning to hold it in place so he can lick and suck to his heart's content — 

"Wait — don't —" 

Treville *whines* — 

And then that big hand is in his hair and Laurent is kissing him *hard*, kissing him deep, walking him back to the wall and cupping his *throat* with his other hand — 

Treville groans and *tries* to kiss back, tries to kiss like a *man*, but he can't stop himself from licking, from lapping, from nipping — 

Laurent pulls *back* — 

"Fuck — I'm sorry —" 

"Don't be," Laurent says, and his eyes are *mad* in the moments before he bites Treville's *cheek*. 

"Hnh —" 

And then Laurent bites his jaw, and his cheek again, and moves his hand so he can bite Treville's *throat* — 

"*Please*." 

"If *I* broke the skin, would you still change me, brother...?" 

"Oh — shit — I don't know, I mean — I don't — I think it has to be my *saliva*," Treville says, and he's panting, and he's *hard*, and he wants another *bite* — 

"Amina seems such a *formidable* and *assertive* woman from all your stories," Marie-Angelique says, exactly out of nowhere — 

And Kitos and Reynard are laughing — 

"She *is*, mum! She brutalizes *all* of us!" 

"Ah, oui, the bruises last for days sometimes! Longer than that on notre meneur. She hits him harder." 

Marie-Angelique laughs delightedly — 

Treville can *feel* her attention on him — 

Or perhaps on Amina *in* him — 

Amina is watching everything so *quietly* — 

"I... was wondering..." 

"Yes, mum?" 

Laurent licks a long stripe up Treville's *cheek* — 

Treville *grunts* — 

"It seems... strange... that such a woman would *submit* to a bite —" 

(She knows *nothing*!) 

Amina —

(I have to — I will talk to her.) 

Oh. Yes? 

(She needs someone to — I can help her with her sickness.) 

*Oh* — can I — does this mean — 

(My pregnancy is *not* a secret, sweet brother. Certainly, it *will* not be,) Amina says, and her entire *being* is wry. 

That's... true...

She strokes him. (Always my sweet brother wishes to protect me. That is *good*. I'll tell you when to do it.) 

That's *fair* — 

(Look to your *noble* brother again. Before he *sprains* something.) 

Shit — and Treville blinks and focuses to the sound of Amina's laughter — 

Laurent is *burning* at him — "Where did you go *this* time." 

"Amina — she... had things to say," he says, brilliantly. 

Laurent blinks — 

"In response to me, Treville?" And Marie-Angelique sounds — and smells — hopeful.

Treville grins. "She'd like to explain to you how it is that a woman like her could find the *attentions* of a man like me... attractive." 

Marie-Angelique *grins*. "Oh — please tell her that I am at her *disposal*! For — for any conversation she'd *like*." 

"She —" 

(*Why*?) 

"Um." 

(Ask her!) 

Right — Treville turns a little more in Laurent's *grip* — 

Laurent isn't *helping* — 

"Husband, don't be *selfish*." 

"I — hm. It's only —" 

"Husband." 

"Wife, may we discuss this?" 

"He wants to talk to me about *Amina*! You do, don't you?" 

"Yes —" 

"*Well*?" And Marie-Angelique raises *both* eyebrows. 

Kitos drums his fingers on his belly. "She's got you there, Laurent." 

"Ah, oui, I think you must give over or face most ignominious defeat." 

"And probably a distinct lack of holidays to the Promised Land, if you catch my meaning, mate." 

They nod sagely. 

Laurent tightens his grip on Treville's throat seemingly *helplessly* — 

Treville's cock *jerks* — 

And Laurent growls and steps *back*, once and once. 

Treville gives him as promising a look as he *can*, and turns back to Marie-Angelique. "Amina would *very* much like to know *why* you're at her disposal —" 

"Because she's literally the *only* other woman on the *planet* you people *respect*!"

Treville opens his mouth — 

"Oh — no. I *know* you respect her guardians, and that you don't *disrespect* the women you pick up for a night... I know you're not like that," she says, and waves a hand. "But *you* know what I mean. She's *yours*. You tell *stories* about her. The way you tell stories about each other, and about my *husband*. You tell stories about her *constantly*, even when *Treville* isn't here to hear them." 

Treville blinks — 

(I want those stories!) 

So do I — 

(I want them more!) 

"She... she's as much your *brother* as your sister, and that is a perfectly amazing thing," Marie-Angelique says, flushing a deep red and ducking her head. "And something I've wanted for myself." 

"Oh, hey..." 

"Mum?" 

And Reynard leans across the table and takes one of her hands. "Marie-Angelique, if we have been... too cavalier..." 

"I *like* how cavalier you all are! It would be — it would be so terrible if you were to all start treating me like some glass figurine, like some... some *fragile* woman in need of cosseting and *lies*." 

Treville growls. "*Never*, sister —" 

"Non, non, I will admit, when notre meneur told us that Laurent was getting married — and to a woman, not a book —" 

"We all really did think he'd marry a book, mum," Kitos says, and winks at her —

"A big, thick — well," Reynard says, and grins. "We knew you would be *gentry*, and we — Kitos and I — thought you would be *proper*." 

"But *why*?" 

Reynard raises an eyebrow of his own. 

"*Reynard*," Marie-Angelique scolds, "my *husband* is a *soldier*." 

"And he does not drink to excess, and he *never* whores, and we have *counted* the times he has used rough language —" 

"We're pretty sure all of them were when Fearless was doing something that could've gotten him killed —" 

Treville coughs again — 

"I believe you can see what we are saying...?" And Reynard strokes over Marie-Angelique's knuckles with his thumb. 

Marie-Angelique's expression is... sour. 

"No, mum...? I —" 

"*I* have been *covered* in bruises, bite-marks, *suck*-marks, scratches, and various *other* marks nearly continuously since my *wedding* night." 

And that... 

Well, they're all staring. 

And then they're all staring at Laurent. 

*Laurent* is staring at Marie-Angelique. *Hungrily*. 

She raises one of those eyebrows again. 

(She is going to have to put a stronger *lead* on her husband in a month or two.) 

I — 

(I will tell her.) 

Treville grins — 

And Marie-Angelique *focuses* on him. "Amina?"

"She — has more to say to you —" 

"*What*?" 

"She wants to say it in person —" 

"Oh, but when? *When*? I can stay in the city — I've left instructions with the chatelaine — the manor can run *itself* — perhaps she can visit with me here for a time? There's plenty of room!" 

(She has been... lonely.) 

I think so — 

(Do not *think*, sweet brother. She has been *lonely*. I do not understand this...) 

There's really no one *like* her among the women she gets to *talk* to on a day-to-day basis — or ever — Amina-love. Either they're not that smart, or they *are* really proper, or they're really *religious*, or — 

(I... see. I will come. After you *seduce* me tomorrow.) 

But — 

(You will *undoubtedly* annoy me soon enough —) 

All right, but what if *she* annoys you?

(She has a very big house.) 

"Oh, *Treville*! Why do you look *stricken*?"

Kitos thunders laughter. "Because Amina just said that she's kicking him out *tomorrow*, too. So she can come see *you*." 

"Oh, that's *wonderful*! Please, tell her *thank* you."

"I —" 

(She is welcome...) 

"She says —"

(How *long* would she like for me to stay?)

AMINA!

(Ask her!) 

"Treville? What is it?"

"She... wants to know... how long you'd like her to stay..." 

"As long as she likes! I'd already planned to stay as close to the city as possible for my pregnancy!" 

Reynard sucks his teeth. "It is a good thing you have this knot, meneur. Otherwise, I do not think you would be having many babies." 

Treville gestures. "She's *already* pregnant, you arse." 

"What?" 

"*Already* —" 

"But how —" 

"No, I — the babe's not mine," Treville says, smiling ruefully and gesturing for *peace*. "I'm going to adopt him or her right out from under that Belgard pustule. *Make* them mine."

Kitos sighs happily. "*That's* music to my ears, Fearless. Let's really grind his face into the *cobbles* tomorrow, hey?" 

"I *still* say we should do this *literally*," Reynard says, and one of his blades is out — 

And then *Laurent* clears his throat — 

And Reynard coughs and puts the blade up. 

"We will humiliate him, brothers. If, by chance, he chooses to *start* something more than an exchange of words..." And Laurent trails off meaningfully. 

There is no word to describe the grins on Treville's, Kitos's and Reynard's faces other than 'wolfish'. 

Treville doesn't work hard to find one. 

Marie-Angelique taps on the rim of her cup. 

They all turn to her — 

"About the... knot, you said?" 

"Ah..." 

"Erm." 

"Um."

"I presume you were speaking of the bulbous *thing* at the base of dogs' — and wolves'? — cocks?" 

Treville *does* work hard to figure out whether or not he should be blushing right now. 

Kitos and *Reynard* are, but — 

Well, Amina is hooting. 

*Laurent* looks like he's ready to take more notes. 

And Marie-Angelique is staring at Treville's crotch, as if his loose leather trousers will tell more tales than they really *could*. 

"I — Marie-Angelique —" 

She looks *up*. "How I *wish* you men wore tighter trousers —"

Kitos laughs like he means to shake the house to its foundations — 

"Honestly, I spent *ages* after Laurent and I agreed to marry trying to catch *glimpses* of what he had beneath his trousers —"

"*Ah*." And Reynard licks his lips, looking a bit stunned even as he raises a finger. 

"Yes, Reynard?" 

"Do women *often* do this? With their *fiancés*?"

"Hmph. Of *course* we do. And the ones who are worth your *time* will *admit* it."

(That's *right*.) 

Does that mean...? 

(Tell her that it helps *immensely* to contrive to chastely share sleeping arrangements with your man whenever *possible*.) 

Treville snorts and grins. "Amina wants you to know that a, you're absolutely right about which women are worth our time, and b, she was absolutely measuring my cock at least some of the times we were 'chastely' cuddling up in her bed." 

(*All* of them, sweet brother. *All*.) 

Treville laughs. "Sorry, *all* of them. Glad I could measure up, Amina-love." 

(Yes. You *are*.) 

Treville rumbles and strokes her — 

"You shared a *bed* before?" 

"Mm? Oh, all the time. I always loved the way she smelled. I always wanted to be close to her." 

(And you were always showing up *drunk* at my *door*.) 

"And, as Amina points out, I was always showing up drunk at her door," Treville says, smiling ruefully. "She was always home. *A* home. More home than any of the places I supposedly *lived*." 

And Laurent moves close again — 

Cups his face — 

"I've always felt your home was the regiment..." 

"That, too, brother, but... I think it's more that my home — my other home — is my brothers *in* the regiment."

Laurent parts his lips and nods —

Treville nods back and tilts his head back for the *kiss* —

"Oh... brother." 

"No...?" 

Laurent leans in and licks his mouth, licks it slowly, sensuously, *seriously* — 

Treville shudders — 

Croons — 

Licks him back helplessly, tongue lengthening — 

Licks him all over his face — 

His throat — 

"Oh... I. I can't help but imagine this other places..." 

Treville *forces* his tongue to shorten again. "I'm — we can —" 

Laurent covers his *mouth*. 

Treville growls. 

"My sentiments precisely, brother, but.... the sun is rising. And we all have work to do in order to be ready for this *afternoon*." 

Oh. 

*Oh* —

That — Treville nods. 

And Laurent lowers his hand with a wry smile. "Perhaps there will be... other nights?" 

Kitos grins. "Well, I don't know, Laurent. What will *you* be doing while Marie-Angelique is throwing you over for Amina?" 

Laurent blinks — 

Looks at all of them — 

"I... suppose my schedule will be at least somewhat open...." 

Reynard's grin is wolfish again — especially since his teeth are a little longer again. "You *owe* us, Laurent." 

"I —" 

"Oh, yes, you do!" And Kitos growls a laugh. "All this time with you and Fearless monopolizing each other. We want *our* chances." And he licks... a goodly portion of his face, mussing his always-neat beard. 

And that. "Mates..." 

"Mm? You're not about to put up a *fight*, are you, Fearless?" 

"Not that, but — you're both getting *feral* over there." 

They blink and look at each other — 

Blink *more* — 

And Marie-Angelique sighs and folds her arms on the table. "Don't change on my account." 

Reynard growls and turns to Marie-Angelique, eyes flaring a hot, swampy green — 

Marie-Angelique blinks... and makes a small, hungry sound, before sitting up straight. 

And this — 

This could be so *much* — 

But it's not time for it, *yet*. And that means it *is* time for this:

Treville *snarls*, sharp and hard and *loud* — 

And Reynard *jerks* back — and so does Marie-Angelique.

Reynard is baring his throat. 

Marie-Angelique is blushing.

*Kitos* is smiling ruefully and rubbing the space in front of his ear. "Sorry about that, Fearless." 

"Oui, I apologize —" 

"We're all — a *lot* more than a *little* excitable —" 

And Laurent's hand is on his shoulder. "Bite us. Now. And then let's begin our tasks for the day." 

Treville nods and turns — 

And Laurent's tunic is already open, baring his *throat*. 

"Your — your shoulder would be —" 

"Here. I want you *here*." 

"Fuck, Laurent, I can't — I never could say no to you. Not for anything. Not ever," Treville says, and bites while Laurent is still gasping, making it shallow, making it — 

But the blood is still in his mouth — 

Still strong and hot and sweet and *metal* in his mouth — 

Still — 

So *powerful* — 

Treville *sucks* before he laps — 

Laurent *growls* — and shoves his hand in Treville's hair, keeping him right there while the wound heals, while he *changes*. 

And Treville has done this enough times, now, that he can feel it, feel everything that's changing — growing and *building* — *between* them — 

Everything that's making them... even more brothers. 

(Nothing could make me more your brother than I've been since the day you *claimed* me as such.)

Oh, *Laurent* — 

(But this... this *feeling*...) And Laurent tugs him back enough that they can face each other. "You're inside me." 

Treville grins. "And you're inside me." He waggles his eyebrows like the fourteen-year-old he *mostly* isn't anymore. "Finally." 

Laurent snorts. "Brother." 

"*My* turn," Marie-Angelique says, standing and — lifting her dress. 

Lifting — 

Reynard is *flaring* again — 

Leaning *in* — 

"I'm holding him, Fearless. Do what you need to do." 

Mary-Angelique is *staring* at those swampy eyes — 

*Panting* — 

"It's only — I have to be *careful* where I take scars —" 

"We know, mum —" 

"That we do," Treville says, and drops to his knees beside her — 

"*Oh* —" 

"Where." 

"My — thigh..." 

Treville nods, and grips her plump, soft thigh — 

Holds her still and *steady* — 

(Do you like that pale, pretty skin...?) 

Treville *blinks* — 

And Amina laughs *hard* — (Bite her! Bite her *now*, sweet brother, so that we may *speak*!) 

And there's a *push* from inside him — but he's already moving, darting in, *biting* — 

She gasps — 

She gasps twice more — 

She touches Treville's forehead with shaking fingers — 

She tastes so bloody *good* — 

And Treville can feel — 

He can feel her coming to him, reaching for him, *clawing* for him — 

Laurent growls, flat and low and *animal*. "That. That is the single most... I want to fuck everyone in this pack *brutally* hard." 

Reynard *grunts* — 

Treville croons *messily* — 

He can feel Amina *blinking* —

And Kitos growls a laugh. "We're going to have to negotiate that a *bit*, mate." 

"I —" 

"Oh — *oh* — I feel — I *feel*," Marie-Angelique says, and *shudders*, *quivers* — 

*Reaches* — for Amina. 

Treville laps one more time and pulls back, standing and licking his face clean — 

And feels his Amina-love reaching back. 

Feels her *touching* Marie-Angelique, spirit-to-spirit, and it's cautious, and gentle, but there's only so cautious you can *be* like this. 

Marie-Angelique is as dreamy-eyed and wondering as a *girl*, and — 

They're all naked inside. 

They're all — 

And it's exactly like being curled up with Amina in her tiny bed, stripped down far enough to be *truly* comfortable and so *close*, close enough to feel everything, to *know* everything. 

Only now it's with all of them. 

All of his *family*. 

All of his pack.


	8. At least two.

"Meneur..."

"*What*?" 

Kitos leans over and whallops him, making Hestia sigh. 

"*Hey* — I just *fixed* my hair —" 

"And you can fix it *again*, Fearless," Kitos says. "And bloody calm *down*." 

Treville — doesn't growl. That would upset Éventreur. More.

He *does* glare at Reynard, who shrugs — 

"I only thought to warn you, meneur. You are in danger of hurting notre verrat's poor hand." 

"I —" 

Treville stops. 

And thinks. 

And — 

No, he finishes neatening his hair and puts his hat back on just so.

And *then* he thinks. 

And realizes he's been fussing, fidgeting, grizzling, and being an all-round *arse* for this entire — fuck. He slumps. "I'm sorry." 

"Laurent *will* meet us with the last of the flowers and candies —" 

"It's the sweetmeats we're still missing, fox-face," Kitos says. 

"Yes, *those*. All will be well. It is *Laurent*. He will *shame* the tradesmen into performing for us!"

"I want to *eviscerate* them into — ah, fuck, I just need it to be *perfect*!"

Kitos and Reynard share a look. 

"*What*?" 

"We're dumping a bottle of brandy down your gullet on your actual wedding day, Fearless."

"I —" 

"Two bottles," Reynard says, and waggles his fingers. "*Two*." 

Treville licks his lips and — "That just makes me *randy*." 

"But you *won't* be *nervous*, meneur." 

Kitos nods firmly. 

He's not supposed to be nervous. 

He's not supposed to let his nervousness get in the *way* of — anything.

He's —

(*Fear. Less*,) Kitos says. And *looks* at him. 

Which — 

He could question that — 

(But you bloody won't!) 

And Reynard just happens to have a *blade* out —

And Treville is already straightening up, patting and rumbling to Éventreur to apologize for *this* growl —

Staring down everyone in the road — 

Absolutely everyone — 

And tipping his hat to that lovely little baker's apprentice with flour on his nose — 

Kitos thunders — 

"That is more *like* it!" 

"Everything is going to be bloody *fine*." 

"*Yes*, Fearless —" 

"*Oui* —" 

"Everything is going to be — she's *not* going to love me any less after this, because *I'm* not going to fuck up!" 

"That's *right*."

Reynard nods and puts up his blade —

"And even if I *do* fuck up, I have *you* blokes to pull my bollocks out of the *fire*!"

"We will do this *every* time," Reynard says, and makes a cupping gesture with his free hand, "and cradle them gently in our —" 

"Mouths, fox-face. He wants his bollocks in your mouth." 

Reynard's jaw drops — 

Treville grins. "Just a little... wider than that..." 

And then Reynard grins *wide*. "I should not be *eager* for Amina to kick you *out* —" 

"No, you bloody shouldn't be!" 

And Kitos and Reynard laugh hard. 

"It's your own fault, Fearless. Making us all *wait* like this." 

"*Hey* —" 

Kitos winks at him. 

Reynard slips the tip of his pink, pink tongue out at him — just a little more than a little. 

They really need to be more *careful* than that, especially during the day, but — 

It feels too good to laugh. 

It feels too good to be with his pack. 

"Speaking of, Fearless..."

"Mm?"

"Are Amina and Marie-Angelique *still* chatting each other up in there?" 

Treville grins. "Yes. I always knew they'd get along." 

"Ah, oui, oui, bien sûr. But..." 

"Mm?" 

"Are they *sharing* what they're talking about, yet, Fearless?" 

Treville snorts. "Not a bit of it, mates. They figured out how to put up some kind of privacy-wall." 

"But *how*, meneur? I can barely *feel* them!" 

Kitos laughs hard. "I'm sure they'll tell us, fox-face. Right around *never*." 

They all snicker together for that, and Treville is breathing that much easier. That much *better*. 

And then they crest the rise in the street and Laurent is there, with the carriage and driver — 

Laurent is *there*, and that means — 

*Does* that mean —

(I have everything we needed, little brother,) Laurent says, quiet and amused. (Though this involved somewhat more growling than I'm accustomed to.)

... oh. I'm — 

(No, no, it was quite effective. I'll be taking up the practice more often,) Laurent says and grins. (I believe it was somewhat cathartic.) 

I. All right? 

(Come, let's...) And Laurent calls them to ride into formation around the carriage. Normally, Treville would take the front left while Laurent kept the front right, but...

But not today.

And riding into that point position — 

*Taking* that point position — 

His brothers are *all* grinning at him. 

(I'm so very proud of you, little brother...) 

Treville blushes and ducks his head. But only for a moment. 

You can't be *small* when you're riding point. 

Not around your Captain. 

No matter how much Kitos is *cooing* — 

Treville ignores that and rides.


	9. Interlude: Tear it down.

"Amina? Amina, are you are you here?"

And there is... 

Amina had *heard* the eagerness in Marie-Angelique's voice, heard the *hope* and *need* and need for *her*. She had *smelled* it all through her sweet brother's nose. 

She had not — no. She *had* doubted it. How could she not? 

What did *she* have for the pretty French noblewoman who'd had *everything* for all her *life*? But. 

Now Amina knows — a little — what those things might be. 

Now Amina knows — a *little* — about what 'everything' truly means for French noblewomen. 

At least for French noblewomen like Marie-Angelique. 

Like...

But she is reaching, gently and cautiously. 

She is *touching* — 

(Oh! *Oh*! You are you — Amina! I'm so happy so happy how do I *talk* properly here?)

Amina smiles helplessly, lying back in her narrow, fragrant bed — 

She is surrounded by so many good scents!

She *never* wants to send her laundry — and if she thinks about that, she will never be helpful to Marie-Angelique. She — 

(Amina...? Did you did you fade don't go!) 

I will not go. I am only... and Amina laughs ruefully and shakes her head. I am in my *bed* now. The bed I shared with *Treville* — 

(Oh —) 

The scents are distracting me a *great* deal. And — there is the answer to your question, truly... 

(I must not let myself get — distracted by strong emotion?) 

You are already doing *much* better, Marie-Angelique. 

The feel of her is *wry*. (I was raised — we were all raised — to *control* ourselves. Any undue shows of emotion were... frowned upon.)

And that... Amina hums. I believe I can understand that, she says, and shares a *brief* memory of being whipped for playing too loudly when her former masters had had important guests. 

Marie-Angelique gasps. (I — I —) 

I did not share that memory for any reason but to let you know that I understood... control. And the desire — the *freedom* — in releasing it.

(I...) 

Yes? 

(Does Treville know about that memory? Do his brothers? My husband?) 

Are you asking if my former masters have been messily murdered? 

(Yes.) 

Amina laughs and grins. My *guardians* took care of *that* vengeance, Marie-Angelique. It was one of the ways they earned my trust.

(Oh — you're making me wish I were a more violent woman.) 

You want my trust?

(Yes,) she says, baldly. 

Amina nods and — and. Truth earns truth. I do not trust easily, Marie-Angelique —

(I've *deduced* that about you...) 

You earned much from me when you... stopped your husband and my Treville.

(Even though I might have simply been jealous, myself?) 

It was abundantly clear that you were *not*. 

(Hmm. I suppose it was, at that. It was always clear — *before* we were married. Before we were even truly *affiancéd*. — that Laurent would belong as much to his brothers as he belonged to any *wife*. I spent a great deal of time *adjusting* myself into a person who could *also* belong to more than one person, and could accept my *husband* belonging to more than one person. And — I think you did the same with Treville?) 

Of course — 

(But you did it with Reynard and Kitos far more than you ever *could* have done it with my husband.) 

Amina — sighs. And lets go, a little more. He told me the very first night we met of his great love for your Laurent. That Laurent was his eldest brother. That Laurent had taught him nearly every *important* thing he'd learned. That... I thought I knew. I thought I understood. 

(*Had* you ever seen them together?) 

Only when Laurent was being... very formal. I visited Treville and the others a few times at the garrison. I brought them food, fresh tea... that sort of thing — 

(Oh. I *want* to —) And Marie-Angelique snarls. 

Amina blinks. You cannot? 

(If *I* go to the garrison, they all have to stop what they're doing and pay *court* to the *comtesse*. It's a logistical *nightmare*.) 

Amina winces. I... see. 

(Do you? *Take* your freedom while you *can*, Amina! *When* Henri — or Marie, or Louis — advances Treville, you won't have any *left*.) 

*Amina* snarls — 

She can't stop herself from thinking about that *house* — 

That — 

The *uniform* she'd had to wear — 

The ways she'd had to walk and speak and *behave* — 

The ways she'd had to *be* — 

(Oh... but.)

Say *nothing*!

(Amina —) 

And she knows her eyes are flaring, she knows her *claws* are growing — 

She can't — 

She needs to *escape* — 

(They — I *misspoke*, Amina! There'll be freedom in *private*.) 

Amina narrows her eyes. 

(There's — you *know* I have freedom with Laurent!) 

I know it isn't *enough* for you!

And — she isn't happy about Mary-Angelique's flinch. 

There is no victory there. 

There is no...

Amina shudders and forces herself to breathe, to calm, to —

Think. 

Because...

This... this desire to make 'common cause' with me... 

(To be your friend.) 

Amina smiles wryly. You would like to make... a bigger freedom. 

(Who wouldn't?) 

Just so. I would like to know...

(I'll tell you anything —) 

That. I would like to know how you do such an *excellent* job at making me believe you will not simply *take* what I *have* and *run*.

(Perhaps I seem... hm.) 

Yes? 

(I was going to use the word 'trustworthy', but then I remembered who you *were*,) Marie-Angelique says, and — they laugh together. 

A little painfully, but...

It's good. 

It's good. 

(Amina...) 

Yes? 

(Have you had... friends? Female friends?) 

I have had fellow *survivors*, Marie-Angelique. And I have had my guardians. 

Marie-Angelique is thoughtful...

Quiet...

(We are, perhaps, not so different.) 

And Amina *wants* to laugh for that — wants to *mock* — but...

But.

What will we do, do you think, when it turns out that we are *both* ill-suited to the keeping of *female* friends, mm? 

(*Improve*. The way we *always* do,) Marie-Angelique says, with no little force. 

With — 

Amina grins, and bends her legs up, and crosses the left over the right. 

I like this plan. 

(I have others...) 

*Do* you.

And she can feel Marie-Angelique grinning, feel her *excitement* — 

She feels as wild as a *girl* — 

It makes Amina want to *giggle* — 

(I want to hear you giggle!) 

Amina snorts — 

(You should *hear* them talking about your *laughter* —) 

I laugh like a *fool* for them —

(And they *love* it. I *hate* how much I've been *trained*! It's so hard for me to let go with my voice, my bearing — it takes so much!) 

Oh. Even though you *want* to let go? 

(*Yes*!) 

For me, when I was freed, I... I tore everything about my old life *away*. As much as I *could*. I promised myself that no one would hold me *back*. I promised myself that I would live the way I *wished* to, that I would *be* who I wished to, as soon as I figured out who that *was*. 

(Oh... but —) 

But... you were never freed. 

(I — no. Not —) 

You let yourself out for *Laurent*. You let yourself *be* yourself for him, in private, and only for — no. You let yourself be yourself for him and his *brothers*.

(*Yes* — to a point.) 

And the point was *me*, because — you did not wish to push in where you had no welcome. 

(*Yes*, Amina, and — please.) 

Amina licks her lips and nods, mostly to herself, but...

But this makes perfect sense. 

This — 

This makes nothing *but* sense, and there is a practicality to it that she can't help but approve of. 

She *hadn't* thought about a life being married to Treville — not truly. Not as more than a beautiful and *unrealistic* dream. She never *allowed* herself many of those, and those not for *long*. 

But now it's here, and she *also* never allows herself room to dither and *stew*. 

She will not — 

She will not let life *carry* her on its *back* like some mad *horse*. 

*She* will direct her life, *always*, as much as *possible*. 

And there are only so many ways to do this, if she lets herself become a noblewoman. 

And there are no true options there. 

The dream is still beautiful, but there are realities to be considered.

(I could have never refused Laurent...) 

He is a passionate man... 

(The first time I saw his eyes after he dressed down another — older, *ranking* — comte for being unkind to a servant...) Marie-Angelique sighs. (I was seventeen. I told my parents about him *immediately*. They thought I was... being emotional. *Hasty*.) 

And then you promptly refused every other suitor they chose for you?

(I'd already begun *that* process. But... yes. And you did the same with your guardians and Treville?)

Amina sighs. Ife prophesied that I would fall in love with Treville before we ever met.

(*Oh*. Did she... encourage?) 

*No*. She *hates* him. Well, it's more of a resigned dislike now. She wanted me to marry a nice, kind, respectful Yoruba boy who I — and they — could push around for all of my days. 

(Um. Hm.) 

Yes, you see the problem. 

(But if she knew you would *love* him — oh, what am I *saying*. No one cares about that.) 

No one but us, Amina says, and smiles ruefully. Still...

(Yes?) 

She had other prophecies, I have since found out. 

(What were they?) 

When I fell pregnant with Belgard's babe, she had a prophecy that my life *and* the babe's life would be in terrible danger... without Treville. She was most vexed and confused about this! And *then* she came to know about Treville's *inheritance*.

(The lycanthropy... but.) 

Mm? 

(*When* did she know?) 

Nearly seven weeks ago. 

(And she didn't *tell* anyone*?) 

Amina smiles wryly. She told Lara and Layo — my other guardians. They decided, among them, to only intercede if it seemed as though I would *break* from Treville for some reason. And they decided to be more welcoming of him.

(I find I am less than surprised by your lack of ability to trust easily.) 

Amina snickers. Oh, *are* you?

(Honestly, you'd think they'd know they're just making you into *more* of someone determined to go their own way at all times.) 

Amina hums. And did *your* parents learn this lesson?

(I — they think I was placated and tamed by my marriage.) 

Amina cackles. 

Loudly. 

Very much — 

Her neighbours are banging on the *walls* — 

(It gives them peace and comfort in their old age!) 

Hrrr.

And Marie-Angelique... snickers. And *snorts*.

Amina grins. I like those sounds from you. 

(Oh — oh, I like them, *too*.) 

*They* will like them — 

(Part of me can't help but think they'll look at me as if I'm having uncontrollable flatulence at a state *funeral* —)

Amina splutters helplessly — 

*Honks* — 

Marie-*Angelique* —

(I like *those* sounds. I want to *make* them. I want — I want to not care what I sound like.) 

It's not that I don't care...

(No?) 

No. It's... there is *fun* in being silly. In being *ridiculous*. In being... *known* to be ridiculous. A figure *of* fun.

(But you also *force* everyone to take you *seriously*. You — you *literally* brutalize them!) 

I do! And I always will! And *you* force them all to take you seriously, as well. You use your *training* that way.

(I — well, yes, I do, but —) 

But you *also* know enough about how *they* work to know that that training will take you *away* from them — 

(If I don't — alleviate it. With *something*. The deviance has helped, I think?) 

Oh, yes, I think so, too! Your honesty and *bravery*, though — that helps more. That *always* helps more. *That* is what they respect. *That* is what they *want* in a brother. 

(But we *both* know they are *neither* honest nor brave with each other *much* of the time, Amina!) 

Oh, yes, we *do* know those things. But are we really surprised to know that they would want — *need* — even more from us than they need from themselves? 

Marie-Angelique growls.

Agreed. 

(There are times I wish to tear down this whole *world* —) 

And start over with *me* in charge of *everything*, yes. 

(Hm. *Us* in charge...?) 

Amina grins. I don't know how *good* you are at planning, yet. I need to talk to your chatelaine. 

Marie-Angelique snickers more. (Oh, I like you so much! *Please* tell me you'll stay with me? At least for a little while?) 

Well... *I* had something of a plan. A plan for what we might do, as a *pack*, should the two of us get along...

(Oh... *tell* me!) 

*You* want bigger freedom. *I* want to see what it's *like* to have friends, family, *loves*, that I can trust with absolutely all of myself.

Marie-Angelique moans — and growls. 

Yes?

(What you *must* understand, Amina, is that, much to Laurent's annoyance, the de la Fère honour *demanded* he take rooms in the city which were far, far, *far* too large for just the two of us and our staff...) 

Well, then. I believe I know where that carriage will be taking us today...

(Oh, *Amina*!) 

Amina giggles, helpless and — happy. 

Just happy. 

Now, Marie-Angelique, let us talk about your *pregnancy*!


	10. Put a ring on it.

They hear the musicians a good two blocks away from Amina's street, which is perfect as far as Treville's concerned. It's not market day, so the streets aren't too loud — the music has *room* to shine. 

Still, by the time they're riding in, a healthy crowd of the curious and pleased have gathered. 

Treville and Laurent spread a little wealth around to make sure that *Belgard's* carriage will get held up and the pustule will have to walk, preferably getting firmly jostled the whole way. 

The crowds get bigger and rowdier behind them almost *immediately* — 

And Laurent's grin is just as wild as the one Treville can feel on his own face.

By the time they get the carriage situated more or less in front of Amina's tenement and dismount, Amina herself is out in front, in her best dress and matching head-scarf.

He'd last seen them when he'd come to her on Christmas, laden with gifts he'd argued her into taking — 

*Demanded* that she take — 

The colours are the oranges and golds of a sunrise, and there are thin gold bangles on her wrists that Treville had never seen before. 

Treville swallows and stares. 

Just —

Kitos clears his throat like a musket-crack, and Treville can actually — 

He flourishes and bows, sweeping off his hat just so — 

He *knows* his brothers are doing just the same — 

He moves close, dropping to one knee and proffering the ring he'd brought into the city from the de Tréville manor a few days *after* she'd knifed that Spanish merchant, because — 

Because. 

"Oh..." 

"I'm here to ask for your hand, Amina-love, formerly and properly." 

"When... when did you... Jean-*Armand* —" 

He grins up at her and winks. "It was my grandmother's, not my mother's — you *dwarfed* my mother —" 

Amina *honks* — 

There are tears in her eyes — 

Her hand is *shaking* as she reaches out — 

And so is his. But not once they're touching. "du Peyrer women are sturdier, Amina-love. Like you." 

"This is just what a woman wants to *hear*. That she is *sturdy*." 

"But you'll stay with me forever, won't you?" And Treville slips the ring on — gold, with rubies. Not quite her favourite orange, but it'll do for now. Especially since it actually *fits* almost right — 

Thank fuck — 

"Sweet brother..." 

He looks up — 

She twines her fingers with his own — 

The tears are rolling down her cheeks — 

He wants to lick them *away*, lick her clean, lick her — 

"*Hmph*, " she says, and steps *back*. 

"Amina —" 

"I am not yet *seduced*." And she crosses her arms under her breasts — making sure the ring shows *prominently*. 

Treville grins *broadly*, stands, bows again, and gestures to his brothers. "I've brought rich gifts..." 

"You may present them," she says, and nods like a *sultan*. 

Treville *doesn't* loll his tongue, but it's *close* — 

*Her* eyes gleam for just a moment —

And Treville flourishes at Kitos, who, by reason of being the biggest, gets to carry the flowers. 

All of the flowers. 

They *almost* come up to his *eyes*, and Treville has a moment to wonder if maybe he overdid it —

But Amina is petting the petals, and rubbing them against her cheeks, and smelling the scents — 

Nosing *in* — 

*Rumbling* — 

Treville makes a note to hire a gardener. A good gardener. 

(Maybe two, meneur...) 

(It could definitely be prudent, brother.) 

Treville nods and watches Kitos smile down at Amina while she *obviously* tries to regain control of herself — 

Kitos looks like he wants to pick her up and *squeeze* her — 

(I really do!) 

Just keep holding the *flowers*. 

(I know, I *know*, Fearless, but —) 

And then Amina cuts her own rumble off with a soft little growl and stands *ramrod* straight, neatening her dress and head-scarf unnecessarily and pulling on her air of regal indifference with an obvious effort. "Next!" 

Treville grins, and flourishes at Reynard, who bows with the box of candies in his hand before striding up and taking Kitos's place. 

Amina narrows her eyes —

Treville *worries* —

But then she plucks one of the few chocolate ones they could get on short notice right from the middle — it's *big* — and *devours* it. 

While *moaning*. 

(Nice one, Fearless.) 

She's getting these every day I can *manage* —

She goes for one of the fruit ones next, but Treville can't watch her eat it, because there are shouts — the wrong kind of shouts — and commotion in the watching crowd — 

And Belgard is coming through with his guards. 

He's not *enough* worse for wear after his trip through the crowd for Treville's tastes, but he *does* look good and hacked-off. 

"What's all this, Amina? I told you to be ready for me at four o'clock!" 

Amina looks at Belgard steadily for a long moment. 

And then she turns back to her candies and slowly, showily, peruses them. 

"What — what are you — and what are *you* doing here, Treville?" And he's flushed, sweating, but still puffed-up. 

Still thinking he's in *charge*. 

Still — but. 

Treville doesn't have to be angry. He doesn't have to *just* rage. 

Amina... is letting him handle this. *However* he sees fit. 

"*Well*, Treville? What have you to say for yourself?" 

*Amina*... has taken the box of candies away from Reynard, so he'll have his hands free. 

Treville grins at Belgard, showing just as many teeth as possible. "I'm here to take what you *think* is yours, Belgard." 

Belgard rears back — and looks to Amina. 

By the scent, she's working on another chocolate. 

Belgard's jaw works — 

Works — 

And then he narrows his eyes at Treville and smiles like a lizard. "Is she making you *pay* for the privilege of her cunt, Treville?"

His brothers pull their swords. The sound of three blades being unsheathed is unmistakable, after all this time. 

Treville just growls — a little — and moves in close.

When Belgard's guards try to stop him, he shoves them down onto their arses. Relatively gently. 

And then he leans in close enough to bite Belgard's nose off. "I think you want to take that back." 

"I — I —" 

"I *think*... that you want to be *extremely* polite to my Amina-love from now on," Treville says, and lets his eyes gleam where no one but Belgard can see them. 

He *jerks* back — 

And the smell of the piss running down Belgard's legs is balm to his soul. 

But the guards are up again — 

Pulling their *own* blades — 

And this *could* be a problem. 

Certainly, the crowd is hoping for one. 

Amina is still eating her candies. *Beautifully* serenely — 

And Treville's brothers are right there, flanking him and backing Belgard and his guards *right* up toward the hungry crowd. 

"You could both attack," Reynard suggests with a wild grin — 

"Reynard," Laurent says — orders, really — and then *his* rapier is at Belgard's throat, just that quickly. 

"Merde, sir —" 

"Everyone stand down. Now." 

Belgard's eyes are rolling like a panicked horse's. 

There's a *distinct* odor of shit — 

"Gabin! Charles! Put up your swords!" 

The guards scurry to obey —

And his brothers do the same, Laurent last. 

When the sword has left his throat — it never even pricked him — Belgard slumps, sweat pouring from his face and scalp. His men move to support him with remarkably well-disguised looks of disgust. 

Treville can still smell them. 

Treville really, really can't stop smiling. 

"You disrespected my men and the fiancée of *one* of my men today, Belgard," Laurent says. "That is entirely unacceptable, and will not be tolerated at any time, in any way. We've treated you lightly today. Do not expect the same in the future."

Belgard inhales sharply, and seems *about* to say something —

Treville smiles wider.

— and Belgard backs away, turning on his heel and staggering off in his full, stinking trousers. 

The crowd jeers — but gives them a wide berth. 

"It must be dishonourable to find such things so desperately satisfying," Laurent says. 

"Non." 

"Nah." 

"Definitely not, brother," Treville says. "We got out of that without *killing* anyone." 

"I can't help but think the killing would be *cleaner*, brothers —" 

"Ah, oui, there is that, but..." 

And Amina walks up to join them, licking chocolate from her fingers. 

Treville rumbles. 

"If you had killed him, my brother, you might have had a difficult time arranging my *wedding*," she says, and offers the box for them all to share. 

"Oh, there *is* that," Laurent says. "You're quite right, Amina, thank you." 

"Mm," she says, and sucks her long thumb. 

Treville rumbles and *stares* — 

And Amina narrows her eyes in a *hot* smile and pulls her thumb out with a wet pop. "I want the rest of my *gifts*." 

Laurent looks up from the candies. "Oh — I put them back in the carriage. I can —" 

Amina grabs Treville by the wrist. "Then my sweet brother will help me *into* the carriage." 

Treville *grins* — "*Absolutely*. Where are we going?" 

"To *Laurent's* rooms —" 

"*Amina* —" 

"We are *all* going there, sweet brother..."

Treville blinks — 

His brothers *stare* — 

And Amina lolls her tongue. "We are all going there to *stay*. Come! Marie-Angelique has been preparing all *day*," she says, and *yanks* on Treville's wrist. 

"Just to be clear, you *are* going to marry me, right?"


	11. Pack-building exercises.

Amina still has just a little bit of sugar behind her ear from the sweetmeats they were eating in the carriage. 

Well, really, it's from what they were doing *while* they were eating the sweetmeats — 

("*Meneur*, you are going to *break* Laurent's poor carriage!"

"You two don't think the ride's bumpy enough?") 

Laurent hadn't had any commentary to offer *aloud*, but — 

(I can smell both of you. I can almost *taste* both of you. I want... to take the almost away...) 

And now they're here — *back* here, in Laurent's rooms —

They're all quite literally wolfing down an *extremely* meat-heavy meal, pretending like mad not to be *staring* at the way Amina and Marie-Angelique had thrown aside all propriety and custom and everything else and sat *together* — 

Sharing choice morsels from each other's plates — 

Giggling and whispering like *girls* — 

Holding each other's *hands* — 

And it all makes Treville feel — slow. Feel... 

He should've done this sooner. He should've given this to all of them *sooner*, *somehow* —

And Amina stiffens for a moment and then turns to look at him. "My sweet brother did this *precisely* as fast as he *could*." 

"I —" 

"And he will *remember* that," Amina says, and tugs ever so lightly on the ring. 

"I will definitely remember that," Treville says.

"Good boy," Amina says, and *strokes* the ring. And turns back to Marie-Angelique. 

After dinner, they retire to the study. The table's been removed, and more couches moved in. 

Big couches.

Suggestive —

And both fires are *blazing* — 

It's *hot* —

"You are not being *subtle*, Marie-Angelique," Amina calls with a smile — they've finally separated enough that Marie-Angelique can distribute sweet wine — and no desserts. 

Marie-Angelique hums — and tips Reynard's glass into his mouth for him.

"*Mm* —" 

"*Subtlety* hasn't gotten me what I *wanted*, sweet." 

Amina grins wide — and toasts her. And looks to *him*.

Treville rumbles and rumbles and prowls close, licking away the last of the sugar — 

"Oh —" 

Licking her ear *thoroughly* — 

"Oh — mm — mmmrrr..." 

He pulls her close, setting his glass down — 

"Sweet *brother*, I — no, wait —" 

Treville growls. "I don't want to."

She rumbles and nips along his jaw — 

He laps *behind* her ear — 

He can feel Laurent watching — 

(That is what we must *discuss*,) she says, and bites him *hard*, right where his jaw meets his throat — 

He *bucks* — 

She *moans* — 

And Marie-Angelique gasps and giggles aloud — 

Kitos growls *happily* — 

What — 

(Reynard has just *put* her on Kitos's lap, brother,) Laurent says. (And... I believe I will look there while you speak with your fiancée.)

I — 

(Thank you,) Amina says, *formally*, and kisses her way up to Treville's mouth while she sets her own glass down. She feels — and smells — excited. Aroused. Hungry and wild and — not ready. Not *yet*. 

Treville croons a question *into* her mouth — 

"Sweet brother... you said you belonged to Laurent," Amina says quietly. 

And Treville is *about* to open his mouth — but. 

But. 

He's a little smarter than he was two days ago. He licks her mouth, instead, and lets himself *think* for a moment — "I don't belong to him as much as I belong to you," he says, honestly, and licks her mouth again. 

Amina croons, nuzzles — 

Treville rumbles and nibbles — 

Strokes down to her hips — 

Thinks about everything they *didn't* get to do in that carriage —

She pulls back — 

"Amina —" 

"You said you could never say no to him," she says, and her eyes are wide, full, worried — 

But this one is easy. "That wouldn't be true if he were the kind of man who would ever ask me something that was wrong. That wasn't *right*." 

She blinks —

*Looks* to Laurent —

And Treville lets himself pay attention, lets himself — 

Wet sounds — 

So much *growling* — 

Torn *fabric* —

"You have such beautiful breasts, Marie-Angelique," Reynard says. "I don't think you should hide them so often..."

And Kitos growls. "You should be striding about with those swinging *free*, mum —" 

"Oh — oh, *God* —" 

"Especially with all of these lovely bruises and suck-marks. Is this where you like it best, mm? Right here, close to your plump little nipple?" And the last of that was muffled, Reynard's voice was *muffled* — 

Marie-Angelique is *groaning* — 

And Laurent is touching no one. 

Laurent is *waiting* — 

(Will he always wait, sweet brother? Until he is invited?) 

I —

(Tell me one more time that you will always be mine.) 

Treville snarls and bites her throat, holds her, *grips* her — 

She is *writhing* in his arms — 

Moaning and *shuddering* — 

*Clawing* at him — 

There are no *words* in her head for long moments — 

And Treville holds her in his *teeth*. We'll always belong to *each other*. 

She gasps —

Now tell me what you *want* —

Show me! Show me you can love me and Laurent at the same *time*. 

Treville's cock *spasms* — 

He breaks the bite and kisses her *hard* — 

"*Mm* —" 

— or tries to. It turns into licks, bites, mutual growls and *more* bites as he *puts* her on a big couch close to one of the blazing fireplaces. 

She growls up at him and begins to strip, not waiting for his *incompetence* — 

"I'd like. To help with that." And Laurent is good, silent, *quick* — 

Treville grins — 

Amina raises an eyebrow — 

"He knows a lot more about women's clothing than *I* do, Amina-love." 

"How much does he know about *Yoruba* women's clothing?" 

Laurent smiles, moustache quirking. "Absolutely nothing. But... it's been said that I'm a fast learner." 

"Oh — *mmn*, he *really* is, sweet!" And Marie-Angelique is holding Kitos and Reynard to her breasts — 

Letting them bite and suckle — 

Letting them *hold* her while she straddles Kitos's lap — 

While she groans and *wriggles* — 

And Amina narrows her eyes and bites the tip of her tongue. "I have had that fantasy..."

Treville *grunts* — 

"I've had that fantasy about you. Almost." Laurent says, and his eyes are — wild. Everything about him is perfectly *still*, but his eyes are wild and hot and *mad* — 

And Amina is staring up at Laurent with her lips parted and her eyes *wide* — 

And Treville is stripping *fast*, because he can't bloody *help* himself — 

Laurent takes a deep, deep breath. "Is that... acceptable to you, Amina?" 

"Tell me more." 

Treville throws his tunic across the *room* — 

Laurent inclines his head. "You — all of you — are in Treville's bedroom, in his manor. You ask me to... restrain Treville while Kitos and Reynard make love to you slowly. While they make love to your *breasts*." 

Amina growls. 

"No?" 

"Yes. Go on," Amina says, and rumbles as she strokes down between her breasts, as she kneels up on the couch and *beckons* to Laurent — 

And Treville is naked — 

Panting — 

And Laurent is stroking so *lightly* over the folds of the dress... 

Examining them *once* before he nods — and begins to undress her perfectly — 

Amina rumbles more — 

There's the sound of more fabric being torn — 

*Shreds* of Marie-Angelique's dress fly towards *them* — 

She's *standing* on the couch over Kitos — 

She's *sobbing* as he laps and laps and *buries* his face in her cunt — 

Those plump thighs are *quivering* — 

Reynard is moving round *behind* her — 

"They're not gentle with you, for all that they move slowly," Laurent says, as he undresses Amina.

"No?" 

"No. They are... rough. You cry out many times."

Amina pants — and licks her lips. "And what does my sweet brother do?" 

"He strains to reach you. He *fights*. He doesn't know whether he wishes to protect you or touch you himself." 

"Oh... does he learn?" 

Laurent urges her to lift her hips — 

She does — 

He flares his nostrils *twice* — but doesn't do more than help her out of her clothes before looking up to meet her eyes. "He always learns. In every iteration of the fantasy. He always learns, and comes to... beg. To touch. To lick. To bite. To *fuck*."

Amina growls *more* and strips *quickly* out of her smallclothes, not waiting for Laurent.

Treville fights the need to *pounce* — 

She *looks* at him, and her eyes flare maroon, so hot, so wild — and then she grins, and grins at Laurent, toying with the fastenings of *his* tunic. "Do we let him, brother?"

Laurent *coughs* a growl, darting in — but not biting. Not licking. Not doing *anything*. 

Amina rumbles, turning her head enough that she can lick Laurent's mouth. 

"Amina —" 

"Do we *let* him. Do we let my sweet brother *fuck* me." 

"I — I can't refuse him —" 

"Anything?" 

"*No* —" 

"But do *I* refuse him in your fantasies...?"

"You... make him wait. Until after Kitos and Reynard have made you spend —" 

Treville groans — 

And Amina makes a soft noise. "I do not give that to my sweet brother first?" 

"I will *revise* the fantasy —" 

She nips him — 

Laurent grunts — 

She nips him again, right on the chin — 

Laurent *pants*, hands twitching — 

She licks his cheeks, once and once — 

And Laurent's eyes flare a dark, hot blue as his teeth lengthen and he begins to *grow* — 

Just — 

"Brother, clothes *off* first," Treville says —

Laurent growls low and flat and *starved* — 

Looks at both of them — 

Grows *more* — 

His leathers are *straining* — 

"Perhaps we should help," Amina says, and immediately works on the fastenings on his tunic — 

Laurent is getting *furry* — 

Panting and *crooning* — 

And Treville is hard as stone and *absolutely* working on those boots and socks — 

And trousers — 

Fuck, fuck, don't get distracted — 

Don't get distracted by all the *scents* — 

Except he's definitely distracted by Amina's *hand* in his *hair* — 

He *croons* — 

His hands are *shaking* on the straining laces of Laurent's breeches — 

"Do you like it down there, sweet brother...?" 

He has to be *honest* — "*Yes*, Amina-love —" 

"We — we — I didn't *want*," Laurent says, and he's chewing the words, obviously trying to be coherent through a *muzzle* — 

"Shh, brother," Amina says, tightening her grip in Treville's hair — "We will go back to other things *later*. Now touch *my* breasts —" She *grunts* — 

*Yanks* Treville's hair — 

Marie-Angelique's scream turns into a howl, long and belling and *sweet* — 

Treville can just see one chubby foot *slamming* into the couch as she stomps and dances and *bucks* —

Reynard and Kitos are holding her hips, but not holding her *still* — 

She's clawing at their shoulders — 

The scents of their blood are as maddening as everything *else* — 

And Reynard growls and spreads her arse *wider*, licks her and licks her and *shoves* his tongue deep — 

She howls *again* — 

And Laurent's cock *jerks* behind the laces of his straining breeches, Laurent's cock leaks so much the breeches are wet, soaked-through — 

*Delicious* when Treville *sucks* — 

He *growls* — 

"*Oh* — oh, brother, I think I miss your calluses this way," Amina says, and laughs breathlessly — 

"My. I. Too *furry*." 

"But it's *soft*, so — mm. Would you like to fuck me tonight, brother?"

Laurent *snarls* — 

Amina *groans* and *yanks* Treville's *hair* — 

And Treville gives up and *tears* the breeches off, getting that huge, red cock in his *mouth* — 

Laurent snarls again — 

"Yes? Is it *perfect*?" 

"I. Pull him *back*," Laurent says, and his cock is jerking in Treville's mouth over and over and *over* again — 

Until Amina yanks him *off* — 

Treville is *whining* — 

Whining and whining and — 

And Kitos is *bouncing* Marie-Angelique on his cock —

Bouncing her slower and *slower* as he snarls and fights and *loses* to his shift — 

She's shaking and *crooning* — 

Reynard is standing on the couch behind them, stroking himself and aiming at her *face* — 

And Laurent is trying and failing to fight his own shift, trying — 

Amina is reaching up to cup that massive, dark-furred shoulder. "No, brother, no. You won't change back until after you *spend* —" 

"I need. *Control* —" 

"Find it with *us*." 

And Laurent is staring down at both of them — 

And Treville is panting on is knees — 

Still *whining* — 

*Begging* for it with Amina's *fist* in his hair — 

With Laurent's taste in his *mouth* — 

His salt and *slick* — 

Treville is *salivating* —

And then Laurent's hand just *is* wrapped around Amina's wrist — "Let. Him go." 

"Yes, brother...?" 

"I want to. Taste you —" 

"*While* he is tasting you...?" And Amina croons and releases Treville — 

Laurent *puts* her on her back on the couch — 

Amina laughs and spreads her legs wide — and they *both* turn to look at him. "You *know* what to do, sweet brother." 

Their eyes *flare* at him — 

And Treville is wriggling onto the couch under his newly-*massive* brother, trying to get a comfortable position under all that furry bulk, and then just trying to get a *possible* position — 

It's already hard to *breathe* — 

All he can smell is Laurent and *Amina* — 

His head is *swimming* — 

And then Laurent lifts up just a little bit —

And Treville can pull that incredible cock *down* to himself — 

Pull it *in* — 

Laurent *snarls* and it's *muffled* — 

Amina *groans* — 

And Treville swallows, and swallows and swallows and *swallows*, because Laurent is tasting his Amina-love, licking her, growling into her cunt — 

Treville bucks at nothing and tries not to *drown* in the images, the *fantasies* — 

The fantasies he'd never *had* — 

He has to thank the All-Mother. 

He has to give the All-Mother everything She *wants*, because this — 

He'd never *imagined* this, but his pack *had*. They *had*, but they still wouldn't have *had* it if *he* hadn't — 

And he wants to whine for that, wants to beg for *forgiveness*, wants to be — fuck, spanked or flogged or *something* — 

Something to show how *sorry* he is — 

How much better he'll be in the *future* — 

Anything to have *this*:

The cock doing its *best* to stretch his throat with every *grinding* thrust — 

Amina's *growling* cries as she kicks and *beats* at the couch, as Laurent *has* her — 

Marie-Angelique's wilder and *wilder* howls as she *shares* flashes of what it's like to take Kitos's *knot* — 

"Verrat — nngh — that. That is a very fat tusk..." 

"Have to — have to make her take it *all*," Kitos growls —

And they *all* feel him *thrust* — 

They're all groaning and crooning and *howling* — 

Treville is spreading his *legs* — 

His cock is *aching* — 

He sucks *hard* — 

Hard as he can — 

And Laurent growls and starts *pounding* his throat, fucking him rough and wild and mean and *perfect*, just fucking *perfect*, and Treville has to *share* — 

Reynard coughs and groans and *shouts* — 

"Ah, fuck — fuck, fox-face — all over her *face* —-" 

"I can't — I — *merde*, I want to be fucked just this way!" 

Treville *bucks* again — 

Laurent thrusts *raggedly* — 

Treville works to catch his rhythm, works and works — 

Marie-Angelique is still *howling* — 

Kitos shares the feel of her *gripping* him, arms and legs and *cunt* — 

Shares the feel of her dragging her messy face against his even as she keeps *howling* — 

And *Amina* shares the feel of Laurent's tongue *seeking* within her, lapping deep more than fucking, *tasting* deep more than fucking — 

Driving her *mad* — 

Making her buck and grind against his *muzzle* — 

Making her croon and pant and gasp *desperately*, and Treville wants to promise to take care of her, to do what she wants, everything she *wants* — 

(I WANT YOUR OBEDIENCE,) Laurent says, snarling even *inside*, pounding him even *harder* — 

Treville's eyes roll *back* — 

He arches as much as he *can* under Laurent's *bulk* — 

"Please, please, *fuck* me!" Amina *cries* — 

Treville shudders and sucks and licks and licks and *rubs* at Laurent's cock with his tongue — 

(*YES*,) Laurent says, shoving in deep and staying there, right there, grinding in and in and *in* — 

Amina *howls* — 

Shares the feel of Laurent *finally* fucking her with his tongue — 

"Meneur... I need..."

And Treville can't *see* Reynard, but he can feel him, feel Reynard's big, callused hands on his thighs, feel — 

His soft mouth — 

His soft *lips* on Treville's *cock* — 

Treville is groaning in his *chest*, bucking and needing, *shifting* in the tiny space — 

Laurent's cock *spasms* in Treville's throat as *he* groans — 

He thrusts hard once — 

Twice — 

Reynard takes more — 

Takes — 

Oh, he takes *more*, even though he's *coughing* — 

And Amina is crooning — 

And Kitos is growling and cursing and — "Just keep — keep holding me *tight*, mum —" 

And Treville is so hot, so hot, so — 

And Laurent thrusts so — 

He snarls into Amina's *cunt* —

*Amina* snarls — 

Marie-Angelique *sobs* out growl after — 

And Laurent *spills*, spurts and spills and — 

Fills him, *fills* him, and Treville is bucking, he can't — 

He can't *control* — 

Reynard grips his *knot* — 

Treville *chokes* — 

Laurent thrusts *deep*, spills *deep* — 

Treville's cock jerks and jerks and Reynard is groaning, lapping and humming and *slurping* — 

Laurent is still *spurting* — 

Groaning and growling and — 

And Amina shares the feel of him *grinding* his human-again face into her cunt, licking and *sucking* at her pleasure-button — 

Nuzzling and sucking at her *cunt* — 

They can all feel it's not *enough* for her right now — 

And Laurent growls and pulls out of Treville's mouth, fast and steady, fast and gentle *enough* — 

Treville gasps and groans and shudders — 

Tries to focus — 

Tries to — 

But Reynard is sucking him *harder* — 

Reynard is teaching himself to do this as he *goes* — 

(I must *serve* mon meneur...)

And Treville grunts and *jerks* again — 

Shifts *more* — and now he has *room* for it, because Laurent is crawling up Amina's body — 

Amina is sharing the feel of him biting her, kissing her, rubbing and caressing her with his hard *hands* — 

"Yes! *Yes*, brother!" 

"Do you want me *inside* you —" 

"*Now*!" 

And the couch creaks as Laurent shifts *again* — 

Amina laughs *hard* — 

Marie-Angelique *screams* a howl — 

"Shit, mum, that's perfect, that's — oh, that's —" And Kitos roars and shares the feel of Marie-Angelique clenching and clenching and nearly *rippling* around his *spurting* cock — 

Laurent snarls — "Perfect, *perfect* —" 

But Treville's hands are in Reynard's hair, finally in his hair, and he's pulling, yanking — 

The strands are getting caught on his *claws* — 

He's thrusting too *hard* — 

(Perfect, meneur, *hurt* me —) 

Treville yips and *yanks* Reynard further onto his cock, makes him *take* more — 

Makes him flail and gulp and — 

Oh, *Reynard* — 

Every wet sound, every hot-nasty-wet — 

He's kissing Treville's *knot* — 

And Amina *croons* as Laurent pushes in, croons low and hard and *hungry* as he gives her — 

Gives her everything — 

He's not stopping — 

He's not slowing *down* for his knot, not — 

He's *rocking* it in, one rough push after another after *another*, and Amina is *coughing* out grunts, and Treville is — 

Is fucking Reynard in *rhythm* with them — 

And Reynard is groaning in his chest — 

Reynard is gulping and drooling on the *floor* — 

Squeezing his eyes shut and working his hips at *nothing* — 

Taking the fuck so well, so beautifully, so — 

"Oh, bloody buggering fuck, I can't believe we're *tied*."

"Well, did *you* want to move?" 

"I." 

And Amina is crooning again, sharing the feel of her hands on Laurent's muzzle, her tongue on his muzzle, his tongue on her *face* — 

Sharing the feel of this *new* need in her, this family she hadn't *expected* — 

Laurent *growls* — 

Aches in *all* of them — 

*Needs* in all of them — 

And Amina is sharing the feel of Laurent's knot getting deeper and *deeper* — 

Opening her up *wide* — 

(I *want* it!) 

"You'll *get* it, Reynard," Treville growls, and yanks him in just a little harder, holds him in *tight* — 

Holds him in *close* — 

Makes him *feel* the fur at Treville's crotch and Treville's every *grind* — 

And now Reynard's face is *crushed* against his knot, now Reynard is sucking at it, trying to take *it* into his mouth — 

And Amina *howls*, sharing the feel of Laurent's knot *popping* in — 

All the way *in* — 

He doesn't *pause* — 

He doesn't hesitate for a moment, rutting in and in and *in* while she howls, while she drums her feet, while she claws at him and *takes* — 

His sister, his *sister*, and he's fucking Reynard in the same rhythm again, fucking Reynard so *hard* — 

Reynard is *stripping* his own cock — 

Treville can't — "Bloody *stop* that." 

Reynard *immediately* stops stroking himself and *yanks* his hands behind his back — 

"Oh, that's good, fox-face. You give a man *ideas*..." 

"Oh, what is he..." 

"He took his hands off his tackle and put them behind his back for Fearless, mum. *Nice* and obedient." 

"Ooh..."

Treville can't look away — 

Treville can't *blink* — 

He's shoving in *wildly*, grinding and growling and — 

Pulling strands of Reynard's hair *out* — 

So beautiful, so *beautiful*, and he can *feel* Amina now, feel her gripping Laurent, feel her *urging* him — 

She shares the mad look in his glowing *eyes* — 

She shares the prick of his claws in her *shoulders* — 

His cock is so *massive* —

And Treville wants it all. 

Wants everything. 

Wants —

*Realizes* that he can't *have* everything he wants in this room without *weeks* passing — 

But he'll have those weeks — and more. 

He'll have *this*, and when he tugs one hand free from Reynard's hair — 

When he reaches up and back — 

Amina's right there to take his hand, to *grip* it, convulsive and *powerful*, ring digging in just a little as she groans and croons and — 

And howls — 

Clenches and *howls* — 

Clenches and *spurts*, and Treville *slams* into Reynard's mouth — 

He's so dark — 

He's flushed so *dark* — 

He grinds his *own* face in — 

Amina squeezes his hand *harder* — 

She's bucking so *wildly* — 

And Laurent is fucking her *relentlessly*, growling and rutting and *having* her — 

And Marie-Angelique and Kitos are moaning, moaning as Kitos's knot *swells* — 

Amina spurts *more*, sharing the feel of her body *giving* even as Laurent shoves *in*-*in*-*in* — 

And Treville howls — 

Howls and spurts — 

And Amina bucks and spurts *more* — 

They're *clawing* at each other's hands — 

Gripping so *tight* — 

Reynard is swallowing as fast as he *can*, but there's still spend dripping from his mouth, still — 

Fuck, so messy, so hot, so — 

Treville *yanks* him off and spurts on his *face* while he *moans* —

"Oh, *fuck*, Fearless — he's spending on Reynard's face, mum —" 

"*Oh*. Oh, I want to *see* that!" 

"I *think* you'll get your chance or eighteen," Kitos says, and laughs hard — 

"Oh — *ohn* — oh, that feels — *UNH* —" 

"Oh. Uh. Sorry?" 

And Marie-Angelique giggles hard — 

And Reynard keeps *moaning* — 

And Laurent is growling, growling as he ruts, as he takes, as he makes *room* for himself in Treville's *mate*. 

Treville turns to look — Amina's eyes are rolled back and her mouth is slack with it, with the raw *pleasure* she's feeling and sharing with *all* of them. 

Treville will remember that. Fuck her *hard* for at least a little while after she spends. 

Make her *feel* him.

Treville leans in to lick some of the sweat from her face, and then turns back to Reynard, who is swaying on his knees with his hands still behind his back. 

Treville shifts back to human-form, takes his other hand out of Reynard's hair, and tugs *Reynard's* hands free — 

"M-meneur —" 

"You have no idea how many different ways I want to make you spend..." 

"Please *show* me. Please *teach* me. Please —" 

He *grips* Reynard's cock — 

"Nngh —"

"Or do you want my mouth...?" 

"Please, meneur, please, anything, I will take anything from you, I am so hot, so hungry, si faim, si *faim* — *AHN* —" 

And it was necessary to bite, to take that throat in his teeth and *hold* it, growl, bite hard enough to make it a little hard for Reynard to *breathe* — 

Reynard *bucks* into his fist — 

Bucks *twice* — 

And it's the easiest thing in the world to swipe up some of the spend that had dripped on his chest — 

To reach round and *spread* Reynard — 

(Oui! *Oui*!) 

To push *deep* with two fingers, because Reynard is sharing the nights he'd spent fingering himself, the nights he'd tossed himself off with *three* fingers up his arse dreaming of his brothers finally *punishing* him for his teasing — 

Oh, *Reynard* — 

And Reynard is groaning in his chest, moaning when Treville gives him enough air, *shaking* for every thrust — 

Every dirty-mean *push* — 

He won't be *gentle* — 

(Non! S'il te plait, non, non —) 

*Take* it, Treville says, twisting and crooking *hard* —

Breaking the *bite* — 

Reynard *screams* — 

*Shares* the feel of Treville's fingers inside him — 

*Shares* the feel of being *breached* for the first time by someone else — 

Treville *grunts* — 

"Oh... that's so..." And Marie-Angelique is shivering — 

"It's filthy, is what it is. Fox-face *said* he'd give it to Fearless first..." 

"It. It. I am his!"

And Treville has to get closer, push *closer*, spread Reynard's knees with his own, get him on his *lap* — 

"Ah — ahn, *fuck*, *fuck*, meneur —" 

"Shh," Treville says. "Just yell." And he *twists* again — 

Reynard *sobs* — 

*Bucks* against him — 

Wraps his arms around Treville and rests his head on his *shoulder*, and Treville growls and growls and reaches for his Amina-love — 

She's *floating* on the feel of Laurent fucking her *mindless* — 

But she can still give him the rhythm to use. 

This one.

*This* one, and Reynard is sobbing every time, clutching him, *drooling* on Treville's neck and then *frantically* licking it up — 

"Good boy..." 

"Meneur — *oui*, meneur, *yours* —" 

"You're going to spend for me..." 

"Fuck — s'il te — *fuck* —" 

"Don't fight it," Treville says, and keeps fucking him, keeps fucking him hard, fast, *relentless* like his brother — 

"Hnh — *HNH* —" 

"Open. *Up*." 

"M-meneur —" 

"*Do* it!" 

Reynard flexes open and *howls*, bucking and grinding against Treville's belly, shoving himself *back* into Treville's thrusts — 

Trying to get *faster* — 

Trying to get *harder* — 

Treville is *slick* with sweat — and there's no reason to say no. He crooks his fingers just a little and fucks Reynard *viciously* hard, gives it to him rough and wild and just as mean as he can — 

Reynard *chokes* on a howl — 

Quivers and *takes* it — 

"Don't. Stop. *Moving*!" 

And his eyes are so wide — "Meneur, I'm — I'm so —" And he howls again and clenches *hard* around Treville's fingers, clenches so hot and dirty and — 

He chokes again and *sobs* — 

And spurts all over Treville's chest and *face*. 

He — 

Treville *snarls* and fucks him *harder* — 

Fucks him until he gets the *scream* and more spurts, more spend, more and more until Reynard is slumping over and shaking like a *leaf* — 

Until there's *nothing* coming out of that pretty, twitching cock — 

Until — 

Until Treville can breathe. 

And *then* he pulls Reynard close and licks him and licks him and bites him all over his face while Reynard licks *him* clean — 

While Reynard pants and mutters incoherently and *moans* — 

While Reynard *shakes* — 

Treville holds him *tight* — 

Kitos and Marie-Angelique give them a round of applause. 

*Laurent* — is still fucking his Amina. 

Amina is crooning for it. 

Amina is panting and — 

And her sweat smells like pleasure and happiness and *tiredness* — 

"You know, sweet, he really will keep that up until you *stop* him." 

Treville blinks. He knows he's not the only one. 

Treville turns and *looks* at Laurent — 

At that *hungry* and *mad* look in his eyes as he drinks Amina *in*. 

Amina looks a bit *shocked* —

"He wants to *please* you, sweet. He wants to please you so much —" 

(YOU DON'T. LEAVE.) 

Amina's expression softens even as she tightens her grip on Laurent with her thighs — 

Even as she strokes and pets his dark muzzle — 

He pants and licks her fingers — 

She croons more — "Spend for me, brother. Spend for me... and then let us speak of the rooms you will take *right next door* to *Treville's* new rooms." 

Laurent's eyes get even *madder* — 

He loses his *rhythm* — 

(I — I —) And then he's snarling and biting the *couch* next to Amina's shoulder, sending streamers of horsehair everywhere as he slams in and in and *in* — 

And fills her.

Amina rumbles and holds him *close* — 

(*I* —) 

"Shh, brother, shh. I have you..."

And they both share the feel of him spilling more — 

And more — 

*Hurting* as he spills because of the way his knot is swelling — 

"That is a perfectly *fascinating* sensation," Marie-Angelique says. 

"Isn't it?" And Kitos kisses the top of her head. "I don't usually like quite that much *pain* for myself when I'm fucking, but *that's* nice. 

"Ah, oui, *very* enjoyable." 

"It's wonderfully horrible," Treville says — 

And Amina splutters as she strokes Laurent — 

As Laurent shifts back to human-form again — 

As he pants above her and kisses and licks her all over her face. His hair is lank with sweat — 

His body is *shining* with sweat —

And Treville doesn't even remotely want to think responsible thoughts about getting to the garrison early tomorrow morning. 

Laurent laughs softly. "That makes... all of us, I think. Hm. I... actually haven't the faintest *idea* what time it is. That never happens." 

"Let's pretend none of us do," Marie-Angelique says. "It's far more diverting to think about your undoubtedly magnificently large knot plugging our Amina up tight —" 

Amina squawks — 

"Well, it *is* —" 

"Oui, soeur, she has a point," Reynard says, and settles himself comfortably on Treville's lap. 

"That's my cock you're talking about, fox-face." 

Amina snickers hard. "That's *all* of your cocks. I — hm. Marie-Angelique." 

"Yes, sweet?" 

"How do *you* feel about the pointiness?"

Treville blinks. "I — you don't —" 

"Hst!" 

Treville *knows* he looks stricken — 

Marie-Angelique and Amina are snickering *together* — 

"That's really quite mean-spirited, wife —" 

They snicker *harder* —

"Right, you two, you *know* the suspense is killing us over here!" 

Marie-Angelique coughs into one small, soft fist — 

Snickers more — 

Coughs *again* — and hums. "It's definitely a *different* sensation..." 

"Yes, *very* different," Amina says. 

"*Dieu*, that's *horrible* — 

Amina *honks* — 

Marie-Angelique *hoots* —

"You men are *ridiculously* *easy*," Amina says, and sits up on her elbows. "Did you not notice us howling the *house* down?" 

"*Literally*?" 

Treville shares a look with his brothers. 

"The priests, you know, they always say women have a demon inside them," Reynard says — 

Amina makes her ears grow. And twitches them. 

Marie-Angelique makes her *teeth* grow. 

Treville...

... surrenders to the absolutely inevitable, breaks apart from Reynard, and moves across the room to nose up between Marie-Angelique's legs — 

"*UNH* —" 

"*Fuck*, Fearless —" 

"Oh. Reynard..."

"Oh — *OHN* —" 

— while Reynard does the exact same things, more or less, between Amina's legs.

Dawn may be closer than any of them want to think about, but...

There's always tea.


	12. Time to visit with Mom.

Treville is supervising — read: doing absolutely nothing while looking sharp about it — Amina taking over the control of his servants while they pack things up Amina and Treville will absolutely need in their new rooms in the city when... it comes. 

The tug. 

The *pull*, really, and Treville knows *exactly* what it is, and, judging by the way Amina stops dead in the middle of speaking for a long moment before starting up again? 

She'd felt it, too. 

The All-Mother. 

They wrap things up quickly with the chambermaids, and Treville leads Amina *out* — 

"Was that — was that what I *think* —" 

"It was Her, yes." 

"Oh. I. Are we —" 

"Yes." 

"*Shit*. How do we *do* this?"

""Shh, don't worry about it, Amina love," Treville says, splaying his hand on her back as they take a *decorously* fast walk down the stairs — 

"Jean-*Armand*!" 

Right, more than that — 

(Yes, *more*!) 

"She wants to speak with us," he says quietly. "And she's going to do what's necessary to make that happen." 

"I need —" 

Inside, Treville says, and smiles to Nouel, the youngest of the kitchen boys, who Cook always uses to run messages. "What is it, lad?" 

"Cook wants to know if the lady likes *nice* food!"

Treville coughs —

Amina *looks* at him. 

Amina looks at him *hard* — 

Amina — 

"I..."

And Nouel, the little bastard, is just waiting patiently. 

Treville sighs and turns to his lady-love. "I normally have Cook prepare foods similar to the ones he prepared at the garrison —" 

Amina looks *horrified* — 

"But... he... doesn't have to do that?" Treville sweats as he looks back and forth between Amina and Nouel. 

Nouel shakes his head subtly. 

"He doesn't have to do that!" Treville says, and licks his lips. "He can use... herbs?" 

"Yessir!" 

"*I* will be discussing the menu with him at another time," Amina says, and *glares* at him — 

"He'd like that, madame," Nouel says. "Treville hardly *ever* gives him anything to work with, you know." 

"*Hey* —" 

And Nouel giggles, showing off a gap in his teeth — "I have to get back to Cook!" And then he runs. 

Amina plants her hands on her hips. 

"I'll... do better?" 

"Yes, you *will*," she says, but her eyes — 

Her *scents* — are amused. 

Treville ducks his head to hide a smile *badly*, and goes back to leading her outside. 

Just a little faster. 

(Tell me *how* we will prepare.) 

You have to open up for Her, Amina-love. Like you're centering for a spell with Ife and Lara and Layo, and getting ready to let *them* in. 

(Oh, but — I *only* know how to let them in. *Only* them,) she says, as Treville leads them to a nice green spot — 

A nice, wild spot — 

Wild enough — 

Not that he'll really *get* that here, but — 

There's the little copse of apple trees his father had planted for his mother — 

That's good *enough* — 

(Sweet *brother* —) 

I promise it'll work, Amina-love. You'll — follow my lead, maybe?

(What if.) 

And Amina doesn't finish that thought, doesn't — 

Treville pauses, just beyond the copse, and turns to look into her worried brown eyes. He squeezes her hand — 

He croons a question — 

She looks down. (What if She doesn't *like* your choice of mate.) 

Treville squeezes Amina's hand hard and *yanks* her close. There's no one I wouldn't fight for you. 

She *chokes* — "Jean-*Armand*!"

"And I *know* it's the same for you —" 

"I — of *course* it — oh. That is what mate means. And She will understand that..."

Treville rumbles into her ear, and licks it, and licks it more — 

She relaxes just a *little* into his arms — 

Treville rumbles more and gets ready for some *serious* licking — 

But she pushes back and tugs *him* into the trees, and he can *feel* her centering herself even as she jogs, feel her *opening* herself — 

It *forces* Treville to do the same — 

They're breathing deeply, slowly — 

Breathing in time — 

They're stopped in a tiny clearing, ground humped with thick, twisted roots — 

They're clutching each other's hands — 

They're breathing — 

Breathing — 

And the pull gets stronger and stronger and *stronger* until it *takes* them, pulls them *down* and *in* — 

There's no time to make a *sound* — 

And then there's no *way* to make a sound, because *She* has them, and She's loving them, filling them, riding them with every green there is, every green *power* — 

They're on their *backs* — 

Holding hands — 

Writhing and — 

And groaning in their *minds*, because this — 

She's *filling* them — 

It's so *much* — 

**MY CHILDREN.**

Treville *spends*, and he has a *moment* to wish he'd stripped off, but then he realizes that the green is all around him, under his clothes, all through — 

Taking everything — 

*Working* him and taking everything — 

The All-Mother is *laughing* at them — 

Amina *howls* and spends — 

He *feels* it — 

It *yanks* more spend — 

Out —

**I HAVE MISSED YOU BOTH...**

And they're drooling, yipping, bucking and clawing at the *earth* —

**IT IS GOOD THAT YOU ARE MATED.**

Treville is spurting and spurting and — 

And losing — 

His eyes are rolling *back* — 

He can feel Amina's fingers twitching *spasmodically* in his own — 

And then — he can feel an easing. 

A *lessening* of the *pressure* on them from all sides — and *inside*. 

A pulling-*back* — 

And it's like before: The laughter, the *voice* that was flattening him and making him lose himself *utterly* is gone, and in its place is *knowledge*. 

Just... knowledge. 

The knowledge that She had been waiting for Treville — and Amina, and the *rest* of his pack — from the time he had turned them. 

The knowledge that they can come to Her *any* time, and need not seek out the green places anymore. That their innate power makes that unnecessary. 

The knowledge that Marie-Angelique and Amina will have to be careful on full moons, because they must not take the temptation to shift. Not while they're pregnant. 

And Treville feels Amina blink for that, hears her croon a question — 

And the knowledge comes: That *is* why neither of them have shifted into the halfway form, as of yet. The babes within them need them to stay in one form *throughout* their pregnancies. Though, for their next pregnancies, they may choose another. 

Amina croons again — 

And the All-Mother sighs with pleasure, making them both shudder and groan and writhe for long moments. 

And then the knowledge comes: The babes will be healthy and strong — and wolves.

Amina grunts in shock — 

The All-Mother strokes them both, and fills them. 

And gives them the knowledge that so many of Her children never find their mates, and never turn the people they love...

That they don't *protect* their families the way they should...

That Treville's own *father* had not...

And Treville licks his lips and — "That's what I was doing? Protecting my family?" 

This time, it's less knowledge than an *extremely* ribald *smile*. 

And Amina is *looking* at him — 

And — 

Right. 

Right. 

"I'll just... shut my gob, then." 

The amusement is all *through* them — but gently. 

And Amina takes a breath. "All-Mother... I. *How* do we show our devotions to you?"

More amusement — 

**LIKE THIS.**

They're *writhing* again — 

Jerking and *spending* — 

**SOMETIMES A MOTHER MUST TALK TO HER CHILDREN.**

And they're groaning and drooling — 

*Sobbing* — 

And — kneeling on the gnarled roots *above* the earth, with the sun shining down on them through the tangled branches. 

Treville groans — 

Amina pants — 

Treville falls over onto his *side* — 

Amina — "*Shit*." 

"Yeah, that —" 

"I feel like I can run for forty *miles*!" 

"Well — She does that —" 

"I feel like I can tear down an entire *cathedral*. Brick by *brick*." 

"That, too," Treville says, and eases himself to his feet before offering his Amina-love his hand —

Thrilling to feel the *ring* — 

*Thrilling* — 

"You are not subtle!" 

"Never claimed to be, Amina-love," he says, and yanks her in close. "Also, you *used* to always give me your *other* hand —" 

"You shut it!" 

"Anything you say," Treville says, and kisses her soft nose. "Say. What are we going to name our babe, mm? I think we should —" 

"We do not even know if they will be a boy or a girl!" 

He kisses her again — 

Licks her mouth — 

Licks her *slowly* — 

She giggles — "Jean-*Armand* —" 

"It pays to plan *ahead*, Amina-love. You know Laurent's already got *lists* of names —" 

"I *know* Marie-Angelique sets *fire* to them when she *finds* them —" 

Treville *coughs*. "That bad?" 

Amina gleams at him wryly. "I am *afraid* to find out what *you* think is a good name for a child." 

"*Hey* —" 

"I happen to *know* what you name your *horses* and *hounds* —" 

"That's — that's — well, we want our babe to have a *strong* name —" 

Amina splutters — 

And Treville grins and dances her over the roots — 

"Oh —" 

"How good *do* you feel, mm?"

"*Very*!"

"Good enough for some wild, stupid sex up against a tree?"

"Oh... mm." And Amina wraps her strong arms round his neck. "We should *definitely* take advantage of *every* opportunity like this before I get too big, sweet brother."

Treville grins and *shoves* her against the biggest tree in the copse. If he puts her in a good enough mood —

(I will *still* not agree to your choice of names.)

— then she will still — and always — be his Amina-love.

"Hrr..."

end.


End file.
